


So Far Around the Bend

by pletzel



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Out With A Bang Big Bang, Post-Season/Series Finale, Road Trips, Romantic Comedy, Slow Build, Step-Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 75,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4310784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pletzel/pseuds/pletzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just before he turns twenty six, realization finally dawns on Kurt Hummel that even the most lavish second (or third, or fourth) honeymoon can’t save his marriage. With Rachel planning on spending the summer filming her first movie in Europe and Blaine dragging his heels on signing the papers and moving out, a bored Finn and a desolate Kurt reluctantly agree to spend a few weeks reconnecting in Ohio -- leading to a road trip, and a whole new realization of its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd never intended to write Kurt/Finn again, but I watched the Glee finale and couldn't help but wonder how different things might have been five years on had Finn been in the picture. Canon is followed, up until the very last episode, save for the fact that Finn was safe and well and finished up his degree at Lima U. Thank you so, so much to Rain who both rubbed my back after suffering meat sweats in Arizona, and more importantly read through this and provided invaluable comments and suggestions. 
> 
> I am beyond grateful for my two artists. The delightful [Starkurt](http://starkurt.tumblr.com) captured the tone of the whole story in one breathtaking picture. I've embedded her art in the appropriate section of this fic, but you can also drool over it [here](http://i.imgur.com/cNM6GhD.jpg). Go send her (and her perfect coif) some love. The lovely [Pterawaters](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters) created a delightful fan mix that can't help but evoke the spirit of slightly awkward road trips with the one you (reluctantly) love. It can be downloaded here: <http://archiveofourown.org/works/4228164>. 
> 
> Thank you to all the friends I've made over my five years in fandom. Here's to saying goodbye to Glee, and to going out with a bang!

As Kurt Hummel grew older, he found he was less inclined to tolerate fools. One fool, in particular. He served the divorce papers to Blaine on a rainy evening in late April. Blaine looked up from his heaped plateful of leftover cassoulet de Toulouse, shrugged one shoulder, and resumed eating. It was an uneventful end to an increasingly uneventful marriage.

Blaine assured him they could be platonic roommates but after Kurt spent yet another night on Brittany and Santana’s fold-out couch, he admitted defeat and decided to return to Ohio for some home comforts.

The Big Apple had lost its bite; at least, for a while.

\--

The moment Kurt opened the door, his step-mother clutched him around the waist, offering him a warm smile.

“You look fabulous,” Kurt told Carole. “Anything new?”

“In Lima?” Carole laughed. “I tried out that rosemary cornbread recipe you sent me.” Then, she paused, her eyes sparkling a little. “Oh! Why don’t you come round the back, honey? My sister gave us her old kettle grill, and with your father away in Washington, I haven’t really had the chance to –“

Kurt saw Carole’s smile dip as large, heavy footsteps sounded from behind them.

“Mom, this sucks. _These_ suck. The whole _party tray_ sucks. This vegan crap’s not –“

“Finn?” Kurt gaped at his step-brother who held a silver-colored platter of vegetables in his hand. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Hanging out with my favorite mom?” The color drew out of his face a little as he set down the platter on the side table. “Helping her set up the grill for smoking?”

Carole shook her head. “You’re smoking vegan food?” She paused, walking over to poke him in the chest. “You just ruined Kurt’s surprise party!”

Finn slumped down on the couch. “I _suck_ at surprises.” His brow furrowed. “I suck at _everything_.”

Kurt sat down next to him on the couch. He wondered precisely _why_ he was having a surprise party; his birthday was several weeks ago. When he picked up on the Beatles song playing in the background, he jabbed his step-brother. Hard. “This had better _not_ be what I think it is,” he muttered. 

“It’s sure not a surprise party!”

Glaring at him, Kurt heard another set of footsteps. Rachel held a silver-colored tray that was larger than her and was definitely dressed for _an_ occasion in a silver lace dress flecked with sequins. Kurt sprung up to give her a hug. He breathed in the apple scent of her perfume, and tried to ignore the feeling he was walking to his own funeral.

“I love you, Fanny,” Kurt told her. He clutched her hands in his. “I will _not_ love you if this is your ham-fisted attempt at an intervention because I am _not_ reconciling with him again. Not now, not ever.”

Rachel bent at the waist and dipped a zucchini medallion in what Kurt assumed was hummus. “Perish the thought,” she said, popping the vegetable in her mouth. “Do I _need_ a reason to celebrate the fabulousness of my favorite gay?”

Finn waved his finger in the direction of the platter. “Can we celebrate it with some animal products?”

“To what do I really owe the pleasure?” Kurt said. He dipped some celery in vegan ranch dressing, wincing at the aftertaste. “Wait. Pale? Odd cravings? You’re not _pregnant_ , are you?”

“No! Of _course_ not!” Rachel gasped, clutching at her flat stomach. “I don’t look like I’m _showing_ , do I?”

“No, but Finn does.”

“Not cool.” Finn glared at Kurt, but pulled him into a brief hug, slapping him awkwardly on the back. “I wanted to visit you for your birthday, but… it’s cramped enough in your apartment, and Blaine’s enough for you to handle without your dork of a brother in the way.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “No kids, then?”

“Nah. Not even _one_. You know what happens when they’re only children.”

Laughing, Kurt watched Rachel crouch down, offering a cube of cantaloupe to the Hudson-Hummel’s new puppy. He nodded, then stared back up at Finn. “What’s wrong? You’re not _really_ pissed about the lack of a Finchel baby, are you?”

“Don’t be silly, Kurt. Kids will be cool one day, but…” Finn placed his hands in his pockets and tugged down his jeans a little. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“Nothing putting _that_ look on your face could ever be stupid. Well, except the time you were worried my moleskin suit was made from _actual_ moles.”

Finn poked his tongue out. “Dude. I was _seventeen_.” Pausing, he extended one hand and gently rested it on Kurt's back. “It’s kinda stupid, but… I really missed you. Can I get a hug?”

Instantly, Kurt nodded. He didn’t know why Finn felt the need to tell him; it went unspoken that the pair had grown closer than flesh and blood over the years. The connection had waned a little since Finn had moved out to L.A., though. It didn’t change the fact that Kurt often grabbed a late dinner after a performance and thought about Finn driving home from school in his sensible sedan, listening to awful 80s soft rock. Kurt closed his eyes and let Finn pull him off his feet a little, feeling Finn’s breath tickle the cropped hair at the back of his head.

“Rachel,” Kurt said, his best friend enraptured with the puppy. “Would you mind if Finn and I went out for dinner?” He looked to Finn. “It’s clear you want something white and meaty. Lees, perhaps?”

Finn looked a little uneasy, giving Kurt one last pat on his back before he pulled away. He looked to Rachel, then back to Kurt, and suddenly the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Kurt said, huffing. “God, I hate salesmen. One of the best things about living in a top floor apartment is the fact most of the mouth-breathers who show up with their suitcases full of knives can’t be bothered to take the stairs.”

Kurt fixed his expression into something far less convivial than the one he’d shown Finn, and opened the door. There was no middle-aged shyster with a comb-over. Instead, Kurt felt his face split from ear to ear as he took in the crowd of his old acquaintances that stood on the doorstep. Santana held Brittany’s hand in one of hers, and in the other, she clutched a bottle of Cîroc. Tina pushed Artie who held a karaoke machine in his lap. Mike Chang did an impressive pop and lock move, then immediately grinned at Kurt before he patted him on the shoulder.

“What in the name of…“ Kurt said, his heart fluttering with relief as his brother and best friend’s intentions became clear. “Is this a…?”

“Original New Directions reunion, yo!” Artie said, extending his hand for a high five. “Let’s get this man some gin and juice!”

\--

It was, genuinely, a surprise.

Kurt caught up with the crowd; he’d seen a lot of Santana and Brittany recently, but he hadn’t seen Mike, Tina or Artie in over a year. The group soon reverted to high school; Brittany and Santana made out in the corner, and Tina was soon crawling into Artie’s lap. Mike had somehow found a Super Soaker and had filled it with some sort of alcoholic concoction, alternately offering it around and dancing by himself. Rachel flittered around with the silver-colored tray of snacks, narrowly avoiding tripping over the puppy. Kurt, not wanting any dog hair on the Balenciaga suede high tops he’d liberated from the Vogue vault many years ago, started to set up the karaoke and looked up to see Finn was offering him a glass of what appeared to be sparkling wine.

“This is incredible, Finn,” Kurt said, taking the drink. Instantly, he pulled a face. It wasn’t sparkling wine, but a vodka tonic. His step-brother had not gone easy on the tonic. “Thank you for getting everyone together.”

“ _Almost_ everyone. Mercedes is still touring, and Puck and Quinn _did_ RSVP, but…”

“Those two can barely handle their own lives, let alone being in the others’,” Kurt muttered. “Oh, is Sam coming? I know he’s not _original_ New Directions, but he still lives in Lima. It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“For sure.” Finn grinned at him. “I think he’s picking up his fiancé from work.”

“It’s going to be such a lovely evening,” Kurt said, looking up into Finn’s eyes as he connected the machine. “There was me thinking you couldn’t organize a shower in a rain storm. You don’t _suck_ at surprises,” he said gently, letting Finn place his hand on his shoulder. “Not at _all_.”

“Come to the kitchen with me,” Finn said, taking in the way Kurt wrinkled his nose as he took another sip of his drink. “It’s been a while since I fixed you one of these; show me so I can get it right next time.”

Kurt nodded; there was something beyond sweet about Finn’s willingness to remember the small details. They walked through to the family room, drink in hand. Finn made a snarl, and immediately pointed to the large window at the front of the house. The late evening sunlight provided enough light for Kurt to see who was walking by. Sam was as handsome as ever with his floppy, bleach blond hair; he had his arm curled around a petite woman with auburn curls who must have been his fiancé. Next to Sam, however, was a smaller individual. Male, with bright eyes, brighter clothes, and a glossy black head of gelled-down curls. Without missing a beat, Finn grabbed Kurt’s wrist. Finn’s hand was clammy. Instantly, he led Kurt towards the stairs. The pair shared a nervous laugh when Brittany’s lime green bra flew out of the doorway, and landed just short of their feet.

“Fucking _asshole_ ,” Finn said. He led Kurt into his old room and slammed the door behind him. “This evening’s _not_ about him. He _knows_ that, or at least he ought ‘a.”

Kurt inhaled. Finn’s room smelled like Axe and Cheez-Its, just like back in high school. He sat down on Finn’s obscenely large bed. Feeling a little cold all of a sudden, he reached for the plaid blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, twirling the edges between his fingers.

“What are we gonna do?”

Kurt didn’t miss a beat. “Let me find you something else to wear? That shirt makes you look like someone’s dad.”

“I like the color. Target calls it navy reunion.”

“Well, it needs a navy divorce,” Kurt snapped. He didn’t want to talk about Blaine. Not now, not ever.

Finn had found a small Nerf ball. He tossed it from hand-to-hand, and paced in front of Kurt. “You gotta face this,” he said. “He’s never going to disappear from your life, Kurt.”

“I’m sure New York has plenty of hired hitmen.”

“Believe me, I’d be first in line,” Finn muttered. With his resigned expression and messy hair, he looked a little like one of the survival experts they used to mock during guilt TV Fridays. “You can’t run away from him.”

Kurt sighed, pulling the blanket so it covered half his face. “I knew we’d have to be civil to each other; to reconfigure. This is just so soon, and so sudden.”

Finn threw his Nerf ball against the wall, and sat down next to Kurt. Gently, he took Kurt’s hands in his. “This is the safest social environment you could ever see him in. You’re grown adults; you live in the same damn apartment. Why don’t you go find a fancy scarf, shimmy down the stairs, do that awesome little defiant chin tilt you got, and show him you don’t give a shit that he’s here.”

“Great advice from the man who avoided _his_ ex for four months.”

“I didn’t avoid her! I set her free!” Finn paused. “We’re not talking about me and Rach. We’re talking about your cheating jerk of an ex who changes his personality more often than he changes his socks. Want me to punch his lights out?”

“You’re better than that.”

Finn nodded. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna,” he said, his face frosty. That was a big deal in itself for a man who was essentially congeniality in plaid. “I got a notebook if you want to strategize.”

“ _Such_ a teacher. Mr. Schue would be proud.”

Kurt let Finn pull him up into a standing position, and threw the blanket back on the bed. Finn pulled Kurt close to him in a one-armed hug, returning some of the warmth. Reaching for his drink, Kurt downed the contents and winced. “I just wish he’d stop acting like we’re these star-crossed soulmates after all the crap he’s pulled,” Kurt muttered. “Maybe if he’d changed his ways…”

“Maybe he doesn’t _need_ to?” Finn said, firm. “If you’re _really_ soulmates. Like, deep, two halves of the same whole. Shouldn’t you be able to see _past_ your differences?”

“I suppose.”

“You are _awesome_.” Finn’s fingers swept along Kurt’s hairline. “You need someone who wants you for the person you _are_ , not for the person they want you to _be_.”

Kurt wasn’t sure where this side of his odd-sock-wearing, cereal-for-dinner eating brother came from. Kurt couldn’t deny that he’d thought Blaine was his soulmate. They’d had a sweet high school romance, sweetened further by the fact they’d seen very little of each other during the first few years of their marriage; Kurt had spent some time performing in London, and Blaine had hit the books after realizing medicine was truly what he wanted for a career. Blaine had been sweet, if not intense; he’d given Kurt home-knitted socks, and jewelry made from gum wrappers.  The nostalgia was as warm as the plaid blanket Kurt had wrapped around his shoulders, but it was just a memory.

Not the reality of their five years of marriage.

“We were too alike,” Kurt said. “We couldn’t see past our differences, because they were the _same_ differences.”

“Nah. Sure, you both adore romance movies, and stinky cheeses, and hating on that basketball player who married a Kardashian. You both do those workout DVDs in your booty shorts when you –“

“I do _not_!” Kurt huffed. “I don’t even _own_ booty shorts!”

“Point is, it’s cool to be with someone who’s into the same things, but that’s where the similarity ends. Kurt, you are caring, and compassionate. You’re the kindest guy I know. Blaine? Well. He’s, uh. He’s…”

“Hedonistic?”

“Selfish.” Finn smiled. “And you’re self _less_.”

“Ironic. One could say the same about you and Rachel.”

“Yeah, maybe. That’s why we’re not together.” Finn chuckled. “Look, man. You should just chill out this summer. I don’t even think the word _relax_ is in your dictionary.”

Kurt made a rainbow gesture with his hands. “Let’s go back to Nettle Lake! Gut fishes over an open fire and strum acoustic guitars while eating s’mores!”

“Really?” Finn’s eyes sparkled as he clasped Kurt’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug.

“I was being facetious. You can’t use boyhood follies to get over a divorce.” Kurt sighed a little, breathing in Finn’s scent before he pulled away. “Was that _it_ for me? Was that the love of my life?”

“How could he _possibly_ have been?” Finn raised his hand and ticked off his fingers as he spoke. “Let’s see. He slept with a guy who once threatened to _kill_ you; he blamed _you_ for being unable to keep it in his pants _twice_ ; he asked Sam to be the strip-o-gram at his bachelor party even though you knew he had a huge crush on him; he –“

“You think I don’t know what he’s done?” Kurt said, crumbling from the inside. “Rachel’s _therapists_ know what he’s done. I think the whole of Manhattan probably does. It doesn’t change the fact I go to bed each night, all alone, and miss having someone in my life like that while Blaine’s entwined with whatever warm body he picked up from the back room at Barracuda to, and I quote, ‘Ease the pain.’”

“Look. The man’s a douche.”

“He is _not_ a douche.”

“He wasn’t husband material.”

“And we _are_?” Kurt said, looking to Finn. His shrug made Kurt suspect Finn thought it was a rhetorical question. “Okay. I can hear the karaoke. I think it’s time to face the music. Literally, and figuratively. Do I look okay?”

“You know I think you always look perfect,” Finn said. The tone of his voice was a little too smooth for comfort; it made Kurt feel like a bug being warmly caressed under a spyglass. “Gimme another hug before we go out and find him hogging the karaoke. Bet you ten bucks he’ll ask Rach to duet with him on Erasure’s ‘A Little Respect’.”

One Kurt started laughing, he felt unable to stop. He let Finn pull him into a warm embrace; Finn was always warmer than Blaine. He was more comfortable than any boyfriend pillow, or Kurt’s favorite octogenarian in the senior living facility he used to volunteer at. The cheap beer _did_ assault his nostrils, but it was better than Blaine’s raspberry gel and overly-spicy cologne, and Kurt sighed. He closed his eyes, letting Finn gently stroke his hair. There was something to be said about finding your own family; it was a privilege to spend time with them, not a chore.

“Seriously. You look _awesome_.” Finn patted Kurt’s hair back into place. “You don’t need him in your orbit to be the brightest star in the galaxy, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Kurt tugged down his shirt. “Let’s face the music.”

“Wait, wait.” Finn’s smile was devilish. “Hold up. I got a plan B.”

Kurt smirked right back at him. “Exit, pursued by karaoke song?”

“Hell yeah. And I got _just_ the song.”

Against his better judgement, Kurt tiptoed up and kissed Finn on the cheek. He remembered a stagecraft lecture back in college; Professor Dushenko had told them all that tapping into old memories was a valuable way to build confidence in dealing with new situations. He looked at Finn’s cute little side-smile, and thought about all the times that Finn had protected him when he was a kid, and beyond. Finn might not have been wearing a Captain America costume, or a red shower curtain, but his presence was just as reassuring.

So, sue him if Finn did still make his heart quicken a little. That didn’t make him lovesick; it just meant that with Finn in his corner, Kurt’s confidence and composure would prevail.

\--

When Finn and Kurt entered the living room, Blaine was hard to miss. Kurt could taste the synthetic raspberry scent; Blaine wore banana yellow pants that clung to his thighs, pressed with a perfect crease. His light blue Oxfords were so well-polished that Kurt could have seen his reflection in them. Blaine was unquestionably attractive, but that was just a façade. In five years of marriage, Kurt had never quite learned about the man who _really_ lurked underneath; he supposed it would take a more patient person than him.

“Hello, Blaine.” Kurt smiled, but didn’t show the tips of his teeth. “I didn’t expect to see you in Lima.”

“I couldn’t miss _anything_ that celebrates _you_.” Blaine grinned. His eyes crinkled at the corners and he pointed at the couch to where Finn was sat with Sam, the pair balancing potato chips on their noses. “Are your brother and Rachel back together again?”

“I really have no idea,” Kurt said. He looked at Rachel who was scowling at Finn and grabbed back the bowl of chips. “This might be an _on_ week. I’ll have to consult my Trapper Keeper.”

“Love is lovelier the second time around, as Sinatra would say.” Blaine paused, his eyes darting down to Kurt’s hands. “You’re not wearing your ring?”

“It’s in its box. Where it should be.” Kurt sighed. “We’re getting _divorced_.”

“If you say so,” Blaine said. His grin intensified, teeth shining like fine pearls. “It was so nice of Sam to throw me an invite. I remember how stressful teaching can be from my time in Dalton; it must have slipped Finn’s mind.” 

Kurt covered his mouth with his hand as he chuckled. Finn _was_ forgetful, but it didn’t extend to the finer details of Kurt's life. He looked over to the couch, and saw Finn had already left the room. He was probably pooping, or practicing Chuck Norris moves in the bathroom with celery sticks so he didn’t let his impulse to punch Blaine’s lights out get the better of him.

“Can I get you a drink?” Kurt said to Blaine. “I know, I’ll make a pitcher. You still like Mojitos, right?”

“Of _course_ I do, silly! Need a hand?”

Kurt shook his head. He knew his smile had turned watery as he walked into the kitchen and placed his palms flat on the island. He breathed out, from ten down to one, trying to steady his nerves. By the time he’d crushed the mint and brought through the pitcher, Blaine was already dancing to his own beat. His elbows slung out jauntily, and he was trying to match Mike’s exceptional crumping. Brittany, now wearing nothing but her panties and the throw blanket that had previously been on the couch, cheered them on.

“New Directions?” Rachel said, the moment Artie finished his soulful rendition of an Outkast classic. “May I have your attention?”

Artie tossed the microphone to Finn, who stood in the doorway.

“While interrupting the arranged schedule is not _regular_ karaoke protocol, I have decided to make an exception for my favorite guy, and my favorite gay!” Rachel smiled, bending over to take a sip of her pink drink. “This song was requested by Finn and Kurt. Hit it, boys!”

Kurt shot Finn a questioning look, but it suddenly made sense as the introduction sounded out, Finn singing the lyrics with a husky growl.

 _Hit the road Jack,_  
_And don’t you come back no more, no more, no more, no more,_  
_Hit the road Jack,  
_ _And don’t you come back no more_

Finn thrust the microphone under Kurt’s nose. _‘What you say?’_ he sung out, looking at Blaine pointedly.

The song continued. Finn was tapping his feet to the beat, singing the song with gusto.

 _Old woman, old woman, oh you treat me so mean_  
_You’re the meanest old woman that I ever have seen_  
_Well I guess if you say so  
_ _I’ll have to pack my things –_

“Ow!” Finn sounded out, as Rachel snatched the microphone from him. A screech of feedback reverberated around the room. “What the hell was _that_ for?”

“Showing me up in the form of a song,” Rachel said, adding a bewildered pout. “How _dare_ you have the temerity to use Kurt as a fait accompli!" 

Finn sighed, like he'd expected this. "Not everything is about you, Rachel."

"And nobody is showing _you_ up,” Kurt said, slinging his arm around Rachel. “Can’t a man sing a Ray Charles classic with his brother without dodging wild accusations?”

The instrumental continued around them. Blaine shook his hips to the music and appeared to have no idea the song was about _him_ ; it made Kurt wish he’d plumped for ‘You’re So Vain’ or perhaps even ‘These Boots Are Made For Walkin’’. Blaine was dancing like a beam of hot sunshine on a day that was already swelteringly bright, and Kurt needed the shade. He watched agog when Blaine took the microphone from Rachel and continued the song on his own.

Finn bent down and pulled out the cord from the back of the machine, cutting the music. “Can’t you take a _single_ hint?”

Kurt flinched. He _knew_ that look. The last time he’d seen it was at Kurt’s senior year production of ‘A Chorus Line’. One of his classmates had jeered him, telling Kurt he should have played Roy because he couldn’t even get the _face_ right, let alone the _arms_ right. It made Kurt shiver, and he wished he still had a drink in hand. “Finn, sweetie? We could sing something later. ‘Born to Run’, perhaps?”

“Springsteen’s in your wheelhouse, for sure.” Blaine smiled, placing a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Cooper knows a great vocal coach in West Hollywood. You must want to take the reins of Glee at –“

Finn pushed his hand away. “I don’t _wanna_ take the reins of Glee.”

“With some hard work, you could be exceptional!”

“Yeah?” Finn puffed up. “Well maybe _you’d_ be exceptional and not flunking out of med school if you stopped telling other people what to do with their lives and stuck to living your own. You leave him the hell alone. Bad enough you won’t move out of his apartment, but no. You gotta follow him _here_ , too.”

“I am not flunking out,” Blaine protested. “I’m just suffering from a post-heartbreak dip. We can’t _all_ graduate with a 3.6 from Lima U, right, Finn?”

Kurt coughed into his hand. “Finn. _Kitchen_.”

Rachel’s eyes were wide as she looked between her friends. “Can’t we all just settle our differences through the medium of song?” she said, clutching her hands over her heart.

“Excuse me?” Kurt whirled his head around, surprised to hear Santana’s voice. “I’d just like to say that I give Hudson more crap than anyone. I mean, he looks like one of the Wiggles packed on fifty pounds in that stupid blue shirt of his, so I’d say I’m pretty justified. But I _do_ know the guy cares about Kurt. Too much; he’s a walking Folgers ad.  That means he doesn’t want _your_ cheating ass making our party into your own personal pity party.”

“I didn’t cheat again. We just –“

“I don’t _care_ ,” Santana huffed. In her heels, she towered over Blaine in both height and presence. “He dumped your ass, Short Round. Tell Auntie Snix exactly why you crashed this party, hm?”

Finn’s eyes darkened, onyx lumps set in his face. Kurt wouldn’t admit it, but there was something carnal, and – okay, hot as _hell_ – in the stance he took, lip curled in a snarl. “It’s bad enough you follow him around in New York like a lovesick puppy, but you couldn’t let him have one night where he’s the center of attention?”

Kurt stared down at Blaine. He was flanked by Finn and Santana, and they did give him courage, but really? The courage came from within. “Go sing, Blaine. Have fun. Make sure you get yourself checked out at the clinic after you make out with the karaoke machine, because it’s as musically promiscuous as you.”

“I didn’t come here to hurt you.” Blaine’s eyes widened, and he looked to Finn. “I didn’t come here to hurt _anyone_. I made a few mistakes that I regret, each and every day of my life. Just let me sing one song.” He smiled, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. “Please?”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, it’s by Pink?”

“’Just Give Me a Reason’.” Blaine smiled. “It’s our _song_.”

“Huh.” Finn smirked. “See, I remember you dancing to that in Scandals, with Dave Karofsky. You know what happened to that big guy, Boo Boo?”

“I… don’t remember that,” Blaine muttered.

“Yeah,” Finn shook his head a little. “I guess you _had_ been drinking more than a few that night.”

“Oh my.” Rachel’s mouth hung open a little “What were _you_ doing in Scandals?”

“Eating loaded nachos?”

Kurt bristled at the mention of Dave Karofsky; not of the man himself. They kept in touch via Facebook, and he bore Dave no ill will, despite his proclivity for nicknames even cheesier than the ones Blaine has given him.

It was more the _principle_.

"You can sing whatever song you want, Blaine, in whatever _way_ you want. It won’t change the fact that we’re over.” Kurt reached for his glass and drained it, then walked back over to where Finn stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must take my mini quiches out of the oven.”

 “I told you I’d taken care of the catering, Rachel said.

Santana smirked, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, but Blaine _does_ like to eat his feelings.”

Rachel tossed her hair back over her shoulder. For someone so intelligent, perspicacity was not her strong point. She bent down to the karaoke machine, looking like she didn’t quite know how to reconnect it, then turned to face Blaine. “Well, you two can take care of the food and we can do a little duet. Are your ready to rock, Blaine Warbler?”

Kurt watched Blaine nod, then walked over to the door. He expected Finn to catch him up and mutter something wildly inappropriate but hilarious. Instead, he heard a loud screech of feedback and a noise that sounded a lot like a slosh of water falling to the floor. The puppy ran in front of Kurt’s feet, making a break from the chaos, and when Kurt turned around he bit down on his lip to stop laughing. Blaine was covered with the contents of the pitcher. Mint leaves stuck to his shoulders, and his shirt was translucent as it stuck to his skin.

“Are you out of your _mind_?” Blaine poked his finger at Santana’s chest. “You might have _electrocuted_ me if that was plugged in!”

Santana sniffed down at him, the pitcher still in her hand. She clearly didn’t care.

“You stay the hell away from him.” Finn used his hand to snatch Blaine’s away. “You stay the hell away from _all_ of us until you get it into your gelled-up head that Kurt’s made his decision. He doesn’t need to reconcile anything other than the fact he should have dumped your sorry ass before you even got married.”

“Like he wants _yours_?” Blaine flicked some mint leaves from his shoulders. “Where were _you_ when he had a nervous breakdown after the critics tore him apart for his performance in ‘The Nance’, hm? Skipping out on grading papers to drink beer and play beach volleyball? You didn’t even return his phone calls!”

Santana thrust the empty jug at Blaine. “He wasn’t balls deep in his college professor, _puto_.”

“I…” Rachel chewed her lip. “I think you should check on things. In the kitchen,” she stuttered out.”

“Yeah, c’mon.” Finn placed his hand around Kurt’s back. “I’ll help you with those mini pizzas.”

Rachel raised her eyebrow. “I thought they were mini _quiches_?”

“I like quiches!” Brittany piped up. “They’re like pizzas on tiny cushions.”

“Hm.” Rachel scanned the room, presumably for Sam who was the one person duty bound to escort Blaine upstairs and find him some clean sweats. Instead, she waved her hands in front of her, like she did at her train wreck of a party nearly ten years previously. “Who wants to be my duet partner? Queen T? Still chasing that first role?” 

Tina finally spoke, tossing her bronze hair over her shoulder. “I have a Masters,” she said, placing her hands on the handles of Artie’s wheelchair. “In robotic engineering.”

“Well, that must be nice for you both,” Rachel said, looking a little petulant as Tina wheeled Artie out of the room.

\--

Kurt didn’t go to the kitchen. Instead, he walked through to the den and found himself wondering why Santana had been so quick to defend Finn. That _really_ wasn’t like her; although in all honesty, Finn and Santana were a lot more alike than the other realized. Sitting down by the window, Kurt assumed Finn had eloped with Rachel to a hallway closet. Nothing like finding out how much of a bitch losing love can be to make you want to kindle the fires of your own failed romance, he supposed. Blaine’s exuberance and whimsy used to spark fires in _him_ , but now it just irritated him. Like sewing on a loose button, or picking out a splinter. When the puppy scampered across to him, Kurt smiled at her coal black nose and inquisitive eyes, letting her crawl into his lap.

After fifteen minutes or so, Kurt gently picked up the puppy and walked upstairs to his old bedroom. His body had screamed at him to take an exit since he’d set eyes on Blaine, and the party would wind down before too long. Finn and Rachel would still be there the following morning, and Santana’s bar was only a few blocks away from him in New York. He didn’t really care to say a lengthy goodbye to the others.

 _Finn will tell them where I am_ , Kurt thought, setting the puppy down on his bed. He grabbed a tattered copy of ‘Hay Fever’ from his bookcase. _If only he was into boys. His dress sense is so basic our outfits wouldn’t clash, and he’d never spoil me for RuPaul’s Drag Race._

As Kurt laughed away the thought and read one of his favorite plays, his mind drifted to his step-brother. Finn was nothing but a solid zero on the Kinsey scale; a straightforward line of a man devoted to scheming blondes and talented, tiny brunettes. He was just devoted, period. That spring, Kurt had caught Blaine cheating on him for the second time in their marriage; he’d instantly called Rachel who explained she was on her way to an audition for a movie. Apologizing, she handed the phone over to Finn. Finn had ended up calling into work saying he’d got the flu, and took the next flight he could. He’d turned up with a brown bag full of carb-laden, unctuous Thai food and a pint of ice cream telling Kurt he’d do whatever he could until Kurt felt safe and secure again.

The thing was, Kurt couldn’t curl up to Finn at night for safety and security; indeed, he hadn’t felt safe and secure with Blaine in years. It was up to him to find his own security now, and good _god_ it sucked.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt woke early the following morning. By eight, he was already in his sweats and doing calisthenics with Rachel on the front lawn. As they jogged a circular around the block, he wiped the sweat from his brow, his bones weary. Rachel, in contrast, shimmered like a vision as she checked her baby pink watch and scowled at him slowing her pace.

“Come on, come on!” Rachel tossed her fishtail braid over her shoulder. “I’ve known land snails faster than you.”

“I’m not used to running on an incline,” Kurt protested, his cheeks burning. He didn’t exercise as much as he should these days. What was the point of keeping himself in good shape when it hadn’t been enough to stop Blaine from straying? He did enjoy the scenery, though; the sunrise had held the promise of a bright, clear day. The hornbeam trees dappled the suburban sidewalk and it was a world away from the cacophony and lingering fog of a morning run in Manhattan.

Rachel, on the other hand, provided a different kind of fresh air. “You’re distracted!” she called out, as her tiny form turned into Sunset Drive.

“Did you see Finn this morning?” Kurt said, struggling to raise his voice.

“Yes. He was _still_ passed out on the couch when I went to fix myself a green smoothie. He was in _no_ fit state to run with us,” she said, looking over her shoulder. Her scowl contorted her striking face into something that was striking for all the wrong reasons. “Or, indeed, do anything else.”

“Crap. Did you find out what’s on his mind?”

“I don’t know. _Something’s_ bothering him. He wouldn’t talk to me about it, though.” Rachel paused talking, but her pace didn’t still. She looked a little bit like a deer running through the forest with wide, doe-eyes. “I’m positive I smelled smoke on him before I went to bed. He wouldn’t smoke, would he?”

“How could you even _ask_ that question?”

“Well, I don’t know! I don’t know _what_ he gets up to these days. For someone who shares a house with me, he’s awfully secretive.”

“Oh, please.” Kurt finally caught up with Rachel, and poked her butt cheek. “He was just letting loose. Enjoying himself. After all, he’s always DD for _your_ parties.”

“Touché.” Rachel stopped. She took a long drink from her bright pink water bottle and put one hand on her hips. “Really, Kurt. Neither your heart _nor_ legs are in this run. Jillian Michaels would be ashamed.”

“Oh, I can run just _fine_ ,” Kurt lied. “I just don’t want any bystanders to think a lethal blast ripped through a cotton candy factory. The only thing you’re wearing that isn’t pink is your contact lenses.”

Rachel ignored him, and looked steely with determination as she sped away. “Race you back for a healthy breakfast!”

\--

Kurt arrived back at the house with lungs that felt like someone had shoveled a pile of kosher salt into them. He had a cold shower and dressed in rust-colored pants and a striped t-shirt. He whistled to himself as he cooked up some homemade hollandaise to serve on some wholegrain vegan muffins with the eggs he’d poached in advance. By 11.15 a.m., Finn still hadn’t stirred so Kurt reheated his own eggs and ate his brunch while chatting to Rachel over a grainy old VHS of ‘Bedknobs and Broomsticks’.

Finally, just after midday, Finn staggered down the stairs. “Got any Tylenol?” he said, rubbing at his eyes. The light room showed the gray at his temples, and the scruff that freckled his cheeks and jaw. It quite suited him.

“Top o’ the morning!” Kurt said, deliberately loudly. “I didn’t think you drank like that anymore?”

“Neither did _I_ ,” Finn muttered, then yawned. “Seriously, can you get me a coffee?”

“You _hate_ coffee,” Rachel said.

“Finn _does_ like his mochas.” Kurt walked through to the kitchen and the pair followed him through as he placed a pod in the Keurig. “Don’t have more than two though. You’ll never sleep on your flight.”

“Huh?” Finn took the cup and slurped most of it down in one. “What do you mean, my flight?”

“You didn’t tell him?” Rachel said. Her tone wasn't accusative, but the glimmer in her dark brown eyes set Kurt’s senses on edge, all the same.

Kurt looked between the pair. “Tell me what, exactly?”

“Well, you know how I’m filming my movie in Europe over the summer?” Rachel didn’t pause long enough for Kurt to state that, _no_ , he actually did not know this. “My daddy Hiram and I decided to invest in a ranch-style home in Rancho Cucamonga. It might not be the most _fashionable_ place to live in L.A., but it’s safe and suburban and has its own vineyard, not to mention the lemon trees. You can sit on the back porch and look out to the San Gabriel Mountains. Finn even has an _office_."

“Other than making me extremely jealous, are you going anywhere with this?”

Rachel nodded. “It’s a little _too_ 1970s. I figured that Finn would appreciate catching up with his favorite brother for a few weeks before he spends the summer remodeling the place with my daddy!”

“Highlight of my _year_ ,” Finn muttered.

Kurt ignored him. “Since when were you filming in _Europe_?”

“Since I landed the role in ‘Seeing Double’. Ben Palmer’s directing. I’ll be playing Amber. A vivacious, down-on-her-luck young woman who so very wanted to be a singer, but was forced to settle for law school. When she finds out her high school sweetheart has been dating her doppelganger who lives in France, she plans out her revenge. In song!”

“That sounds….” Kurt searched for diplomacy. “Intriguing. When do you start shooting?”

“July. But I’m committed to spending the next few weeks working on my new album. After all, I know I’m _phenomenal_ , but the critics keep calling me predictable. Just because I’m Jewish, and have a certain _look_ , and starred in several productions Barbra originated. How narrow-minded.”

“You plan on being phenomenal through compromising your artistic integrity?” Kurt said.

Rachel pouted. “We can’t _all_ have your versatility.”

“Versatility? Because I’m moderately proficient with accents and I’m handy with a Sai sword?” Kurt looked at her, dead on. “I thought Woody Allen had booked you for that procedural?”

Finn glared at her. “I wouldn’t let that creep touch you with a twenty foot pole.”

“Well.” Rachel sighed, and slumped down a little, letting Finn put his arms around her. “My _artistic integrity_ would perhaps be easier to maintain if I didn’t look so… me.”

“Hey.” Finn tugged her closer. “You know I hate it when you talk about yourself like that. I _love_ the way you look.”

Rachel beamed across at him. “I do, too. I just don’t think the silver _screen_ does. Oh, Kurt! Perhaps you could have a word with Blaine’s brother. See if he knows of any more opportunities. After all, reconciliation is a –“

“Rach, you gotta reconcile the fact he’s an asshole,” Finn said, jaw set in anger.

“Yes, Finn,” Rachel said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I believe you’ve made us _well_ aware. All anyone could talk about last night was the Klake-up. I was _hoping_ for people to talk about my movie.”

“Klake-up?” Kurt narrowed his eyes.

Finn scratched at his knee. "Don’t trivialize it, Rachel. You make his divorce sound like some shitty thing you’d buy from a food truck.”

"Very _protective_ , Finn." Rachel jabbed Finn in the chest. “I’m fairly sure you could have predicted that this was _exactly_ what would have happened. Perhaps if you’d invited Blaine, Kurt would have had a chance to prepare!”

“Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, party, would it?” Finn paused. “I told you, Kurt. I’d have been happy to punch his lights out. That goes for anyone who hurts my family.”

“Delightful.” Rachel pulled away, folding her arms. “It only takes three drinks for you to turn into a caveman.”

“Oh, and you _hated_ it when Brody apologized to you with his black eye, huh?”

Rachel snapped her jaw shut. “You cannot even contemplate comparing Kurt’s five year marriage to the love of his life with a silly little teenaged fling of mine. Your thinking is so black and white that you’re a _negative_ ,” Rachel said, urging Kurt to join in, but Kurt rolled his eyes at her because he could remember her telling him just how much she valued Finn’s _protection_. “If you’ll excuse me? I have to pack.”

\--

Finn followed Rachel upstairs; Kurt wasn’t sure what she was packing _for_ , but he heard muffled shouting followed by silence. He decided to leave them to their altercation, and went to his own room to sort through some of his old clothes. The royal blue Vince sweater he found was too small for him these days, but the color would look perfect on Carole. He took it through to the den where his step-mother was busy cutting out coupons.

“Oh, Kurt, that’s beautiful!” Carole snipped out something and added it to her pile, looking entirely too comfortable with the giant shears she was holding. “That’s for me?”

“Finn’s chest would tear it in two like the Incredible Hulk.”

Carole set down her shears, her brow a little creased. “Is it me, or has he put on a little weight?” She took the sweater and held it to her chest. “We’re sure Rachel’s not pregnant and Finn’s joining her in eating for two?”

“If she _is_ , it’s certainly not Finn’s. He just seems… I don’t know, unsettled?”

“He’s barely even spoken to me since he came home. Maybe you can get through to him? Take him to the dairy farm for a sundae, or go fruit-picking and bake a pie?”

“Who are we, the Waltons?” Kurt rolled his eyes, then leaned over to point at a coupon for the frozen lasagna his father adored. “We should just pack him off to help out at Orchards for Humanity.”

“He used to _love_ the outdoors. He hasn’t cooped himself up like this since high school, and with Rachel taking off to work on her album…”

Kurt gaped; he'd drifted from Rachel, but he knew even less about her life nowadays than he'd thought. “Taking off where?”

“She’s going to a log cabin near Sandusky for a few weeks. There’s an organic spa, and a health food store right across the street. It was actually Finn’s suggestion; he said he’d told her some time alone would be good.” Carole lowered her voice. “Don’t ever tell her this, but sometimes I think _she’s_ the only one who can put up with her company.”

“Finn can handle her just fine. So what’s he going to do if…“ Pausing, Kurt shook his head as Carole’s intentions became clear. “No. Not a chance. I am _not_ going camping with him again. We’ll be at each other’s throats. It was bad enough at Nettle Lake when his body spray attracted all the mosquitos. The prospect of spending that much time with him makes me want to sequester myself into a cabin of my very own.”

“Finn’s different from you. He’s a people person.”

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means that while you’d be productive if _you_ were left on your own, he’d be marinating in junk food within a week. I know the two of you aren’t as close as you used to be back in high school, but I remember you during college vacations. You used to drink milk together, and bake cookies. Sing Christmas carols in those matching sweaters we got you. There was honestly a time when I wondered if maybe there was something else going on between you two,” Carole said, a little shyly. “That summer after you graduated, you saw a lot more of him than you did of Blaine.”

“I was in a touring production of The Real Inspector Hound. I barely saw anyone!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Carole held her hands up in defeat. “I’m just saying, you and Finn discovering there was something else between you wouldn’t be as preposterous as you’d think.”

Kurt forced a laugh. “Would that even be _legal_?”

“Maybe in Kentucky,” Carole said. “I wish you’d met his father. Finn’s so much like him; wanting to please everyone. He needs to learn that he’s never going to be happy if he keeps trying to seek approval from everyone around him.” Pausing, Carole stroked the fabric of the sweater, and held it up to her cheek, exhaling deeply.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I want you to promise me you’ll put a smile back on my son’s face.”

“I’ll try my very best,” Kurt said, leaning over to let Carole pull him into a hug.

\--

They spent the next few days as a trio. Rachel and Kurt went to the mall to find something affordably stylish, and met up with Finn who was sniffing his way through the Yankee Candle store. They went out for ice creams, and caught movies, and even dragged Rachel to a sports bar where she was recognized by a few people and posed for selfies with grace.

That morning, Kurt had spent the day writing. He’d swung by the grocery store; Rachel tended to consume hummus like most people consumed coffee. He opened the door to find his best friend in the hallway. Her large fuchsia Samsonite case was by her legs, and her hands were on her hips. Kurt couldn’t see her face as her back was turned to him, but he could see Finn’s perplexed expression as he set his bags down on the table, undetected.

“… and I don’t care _how_ good the line-up is for this year’s Pitchfork festival. You should be spending your summer working on your lesson plans, because you _know_ there are ramifications when you don’t meet your performance targets. I want you to promise me you’ll put more effort in,” she said, nagging but with good intentions. “Telling your kids to look it up on Google and find a song to sing about it doesn’t scream viable educational strategy.”

“Whatever. I’ve been teacher of the year. _Twice_.”

“It was a write-in,” Rachel said. “Nearly every teenage girl in that school wants to –“

“Hey, Kurt!” Finn grinned, relief washing over his features. “You’re back. Did you remember my garlic bread?”

Rachel turned around. Her heels clacked across the hardwood floor, just the wrong side of sensible, as she walked over to Kurt and gave him a tight hug.

“You’re leaving already?”

“I just feel… inspired,” Rachel said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll miss you both. Feel free to visit me in my cabin, Kurt. We could collaborate, just like old times!”

Kurt looked to Finn, who was already tearing through the grocery bags. “Sooner rather than later,” he muttered. “I don’t think I’ll last much longer in _his_ company.”

“Geez. I planned on taking you out for a burger and a shake. It’s not like we’re going to rock out at The Viper Room.”

“Hm.” Rachel smiled, showing all her teeth. It was a little eerie. “Though an untimely demise would be tragic, you do have to admit there would be a certain glamor. I have, of course, often thought about my funeral. An ice statuette of yours truly; my own rendition of ‘The Way We Were’ playing softly in the background while my adoring fans mourn, standing in wait for a glimpse of my pink and gold –“

“Morbid, much?” Finn shook his head. “Let me guess, you've already asked Sutton Foster to perform ‘Empty Chairs at Empty Tables’ at the wake.”

Kurt raised his finger. “Uh, which one of us is he talking to?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Rachel admitted, and her eyes flew open a little as the sounds of a car pulled into the driveway. “That’ll be Henrik, my driver. He doesn’t like to wait around, so I’d better go.” Tiptoeing up, Rachel kissed each of Kurt’s cheeks and then shot Finn a wave. “Have a wonderful summer together!”

“Good luck, Fanny!” He paused, expecting Rachel and Finn to exchange a kiss so wet that they should have been wearing galoshes, but Rachel just continued to wave at the pair. “You’re really serious about your social media blackout?”

“As serious as I am about my career,” Rachel said, wiping a smear of lip-gloss from Kurt's cheek. “Take care. I’ll visit you in New York in the fall!”

“Have fun!” Finn called out, as Rachel and her suitcase walked down the garden path and into the glossy black Audi that waited in the driveway. “Don’t butt dial me!”

Kurt laughed, slinging his arm around Finn’s waist. “Don’t write anything _I_ would write!”

Rachel turned her head over her shoulder. “Leave me _something_ to work with!” she said, blowing the pair a kiss, and soon she was zooming off in a fog of exhaust to make musical magic.

\--

Finn turned to Kurt with a smile on his face. Kurt had honestly expected him to spend the first day or two after Rachel had gone listening to nothing but his old Yellowcard and Dashboard Confessional MP3s, but he instantly offered Kurt a huge grin, extending his hand for a high five. “Our summer’s going to _rock_ ,” he said, happiness dripping from every pore. “What’ll we do first? Dive bar?”

“Don’t get drunk,” Kurt said. “You know she’ll be butt dialing you within the hour. Want to grab an early dinner at the Hen Haus?”

“Isn’t that the place that does Topless Tuesdays?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen Santana do. Sam tells me their hot wings are outstanding.”

“Oh yeah, the Braveheart ones.” Finn laughed. “They’ll take away your poop, but they’ll never take away your freedom.”

“You’re such a boy,” Kurt huffed. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s grab something from the store and do some baking, like we did when we were kids.”

Finn’s smile dipped a little. Kurt was expecting him to say something snide in response, but he walked over and slung his arm around Kurt. “That sounds awesome,” he declared.

\--

Finn fidgeted in the passenger seat of Carole’s station wagon as Kurt drove them to the Meijer. When Finn grabbed a grocery cart and steered it through the store, his face fell. Kurt joked that Finn was awfully constipated for a man who’d learned to eat so much hummus, but Finn stated being back in the Midwest was a shock. Californian produce was bigger and brighter; shiny purple plums and avocados the size of footballs, and it wasn’t even worth using the wrinkled, sorry-looking tomatoes to make a marinara sauce.

Kurt argued back that produce was produce, and he couldn’t believe he was even _having_ this conversation with someone who used to smother his spaghetti in ketchup and Kraft singles.

Just as Finn had silenced his inner Californian and was dumping an armful of garlic bread into the cart, Kurt blinked and prodded Finn’s arm as he saw a figure he'd not seen since high school.

“Hey, check out Lima’s favorite fags!”

Finn instantly steered the cart around their former classmate. “Get lost,” he said.

“I heard you’re an actor now," the guy said. "What’cha been in, ‘A Few Good Men’?”

“And you are?” Kurt said with a sniff as he tilted his chin up.

“Tired from cleaning out my mom’s septic tank, I’ll bet,” Finn said. “Catchy little jingle you got over at Lima Septic Systems, Strando. What’s it go like again? Dirty deeds done dirt cheap?”

“My work’s good and honest. Better than being a fag like you, _fag_.” Strando paused to stare at the pair while Kurt pretended to ignore him and reached for the brand of low-fat frozen yogurt Carole liked. “Wait, are you sickos _together_?”

“Finn lives in L.A. with Rachel Berry. You know, the Tony Award winning Broadway star?”

Strando didn’t care much for musical theater, it seemed. “Might as well be packing fudge. She got a bigger dick than you, and probably more idea what to do with it.”

“You seem to know a lot about my dick. You been peeking in the showers?”

“Whatever, _Hard-On_ ,” Strando said.

Kurt tried not to laugh at the pathetic display of machismo Strando was displaying; Finn definitely had a point about him being fixated on his genitalia. The guy didn’t scare him after all he’d faced in New York, but Finn was puffing up to his full height, and the last thing a teacher needed was a criminal record. 

“I heard Sue Sylvester’s your next client,” Finn continued. “Might want to start early on that one. You wouldn’t believe the crap that comes out of _her_.”

Strando spat in the pair’s direction, his saliva hitting the tips of Kurt’s shoes. “I don’t care. I got a nice house, and a hot wife, which is more than what _you_ got, Hummel.”

Finn reached into his pocket and handed Kurt a man-size tissue, casting him a look that indicated Strando couldn’t be further from the truth. The pair watched him walk to the end of the aisle and shove so many Totino’s party pizzas into his cart that he could have fed the McKinley Titans’ entire team.

“Ironic, isn’t it,” Finn muttered. “I mean, he puts enough _crap_ in himself.”

“At least he found his vocation.”

Finn’s bubbling laugh made Strando turn around and give them the finger. “I ‘m surprised he even graduated high school,” he said, putting two tubs of Phish Food in their cart. “I give him two years before he slips on a pile of shit and makes a worker’s comp claim.”

“Ah, young ambition,” Kurt said, as he added a tub of Cookie Dough for good measure.

\--

Later on, they sung along to the Grease soundtrack while they put together some bread to accompany the baked rotini. Finn surprised Kurt by stating he’d knead the dough. The reason for that became clear as Finn slammed and kneaded the dough with so much force that the kitchen cupboards rattled. Briefly, Kurt debated standing behind Finn and showing him the unfortunate dough needed a gentler touch, but the scene was already worryingly domestic. The last thing he wanted was to re-enact ‘Ghost’.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Kurt said, as he sipped on his cup of Chai and flipped through the latest issue of Nylon. “Our lives were better than his back then and they’re even better now.”

Finn slammed the dough down again. “That could have been _me_ ,” he said, wiping the smear of flour from his cheek. “If it wasn’t for my favorite teacher planting drugs in my locker… if it wasn’t for Rachel being all Swimfan…”

“You’d never have joined Glee?”

Finn nodded. “I’d have been nothing more than another meathead. Best case scenario? I’d have taught shop at McKinley and married the school nurse.”

“Sam Evans teaches shop and married _a_ nurse. It’s not a bad little life.”

“You’d not have been my brother. Sounds like a pretty _terrible_ life to me.”

Kurt flipped his magazine shut. “I can say with complete confidence that you’d never have been that person. Would you like to try some tea? Something about it soothes me. Always calms me down.”

Finn slammed the dough down. “I don’t _need_ to calm down!” he said.

“Uh huh?” Kurt got up, opened the fridge, and got out a beer. He flipped the cap off with a bottle opener, and placed it in front of Finn who grabbed onto it with one floury hand and took a large gulp.

“Thanks, man. Feeling better already.” Finn kneaded his dough a little more gently. “Can you show me how to make it look like that bread they have in those weird French movies you and Rachel watch?”

“A Batard?”

Finn laughed. He slammed his beer down, shaking the foam off his hands. “No way. Seriously? That’s what it’s called?”

“A man doesn’t like about bread.” Kurt sighed. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just _don’t_.”

“Those pants don’t _really_ make you look like a bottle of Sunny D.”

“Oh, shut up. I don’t know what I was thinking about _this_. Spending a summer reliving the best parts of my friendship with you, and the worst parts of my suffering through high school. I should just suck it up and soundproof the apartment to save the neighbors from even more petty squabbles over Blaine not doing the dishes and bending the tube of toothpaste from the bottom. Ooh, maybe I could purchase a toothpaste clip?”

“Yeah. Rach _hates_ the toothpaste thing. _Fold, not squeeze, Finn_!” He took another sip of his beer, then moved to the sink to wash his hands. “It all comes out the same way in the end, doesn’t it?”

“Good job I’m not living with _you_. I’m surprised you even _clean_ your teeth. First thing I’d do? Toss your Oral-B fruit burst in the trash. You’re not five.”

“Your teeth make you _look_ five.”

“At least my dress sense doesn’t.”

At that, Finn flicked a handful of water at Kurt. “What was it Blaine said again? Sharing an apartment with you was worse than ordering a medium drip and finding out it’s Folgers?”

Kurt ducked. He grabbed the dishtowel, fully prepared to whip Finn’s butt with it, but paused when Finn continued to wash his hands and shook them over the sink. He turned off the tap and shot Kurt a bright smile. “Sorry I ruined the bread,” he said. “And sorry for bringing up Blaine.”

“It’s nothing I’ve not done in the name of stress relief,” Kurt sighed, handing Finn the dishtowel back. “You know my divorce had been a long time in the making. Did you know he sent me a text last night, and suggested going on a _fourth_ honeymoon to New Zealand with Sam and his fiancé? Between you and me, I think it was an elaborate ruse to see where Avatar was filmed.”

“Fourth? How many did you _have_?”

“Three,” Kurt laughed, glad Finn’s sunny nature made up for his lack of acumen. “The first time we went to Paris, Texas. We were both studying and couldn’t afford a trip abroad. It was… sweet.”

“I _love_ that movie. The score for that’s got, like, all this slide-guitar. It’s incredible.”

“I’ve never seen it. Blaine just thought it would be romantic to go to Paris. Anyway, for our second honeymoon, we went to Europe for a ten day tour, spending each day in a different city. Then, as you know, last year we went cruising.”

“ _Gross_.”

“Actual cruising, Finn. On a ship.”

“Yeah, that was what I meant. It’s gross, because spending a week doing nothing but playing shuffleboard and getting tan isn’t _you_. I mean, I’ve never really been on a vacation, but it doesn’t sound like something _I’d_ enjoy, and I’m way less active than you are these days.”

“You’ve _never_ been on a vacation?”

Finn nodded. “Not since we went camping. I’ve visited Puck a bunch of times, and been to the time-share Rachel’s daddy Hiram has in Lake Tahoe, but I’m always stuck staying home with the cat while Rach goes to Cabo with her _girls_.”

“Ah. Sweet little Callie with the sharp little claws. Who’s looking after her?”

“Taylor, thank goodness. Sweet little Callie brings me out in sweet little hives.”

“Do you mean… Taylor as in Taylor _Swift,_ Taylor?

“Yeah, she’s cool. Her sugar cookies are even better than Rachel’s.”

Sighing, Kurt wetted a dishcloth and threw it over the basin of dough. It was a sorry state of affairs when Rachel’s snarling calico cat had more brushes with fame than he did. He pondered why, precisely, that upset him while Finn clattered around and washed up.

“How about getting away somewhere this summer?” Kurt said, remembering Carole’s advice. “I remember when we were in Europe. I’d had visions of spending two week in a bijou apartment in Montmartre, and doing patisserie workshops at Pain De Sucre. I barely even had time to see the Mona Lisa and ride a rented bicycle along the Seine before he dragged me away to Bruges. As for the cruise? Ugh. I trained myself to sleep for ten hours each night so the time would pass more quickly.”

Finn dropped the rolling pin in the sink then slapped his hands together. “So let me get this straight. I’m desperate to go on vacation, and you’re clearly in _need_ of one judging by how uptight and overworked you’ve been.”

“I have _not_ been uptight and overworked!”

“Seriously? I came downstairs at 3 a.m. last night for a glass of water, and you were watching this documentary on Noel Coward and taking notes. You were dictating ideas for your next play into your phone while we were stuck in traffic the other night. Any psychologist worth their salt will tell you about the value of work-life balance.” Finn paused, squirting some more washing-up liquid in the bowl. “You need some balance, Kurt. I’ll take care of you the best I can, but you gotta start taking care of yourself.”

“I can’t go on a vacation. Quinn’s wedding’s on July 2nd.”

“What?” Finn’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Quinn’s getting _married_?”

“You didn’t receive an invite?” Kurt’s smile dipped. “Wait, she must have sent it to your old place in Pasadena. I’m sure if you actually got in touch, it would be fine. I mean, I’m not taking _my_ plus one anymore, so you can always sleep on a pull-out cot after watching her make another colossal mistake.”

“That’s kinda cruel, Kurt.” Finn splashed his hands in the sink. “She’s really getting married? Why the hell didn’t Puck tell me?”

“Probably because she didn’t tell _Puck_ ,” Kurt said. “Her paramour’s a resident at New York-Presbyterian. The improbably named Larkin Halvorson. Nothing more cliché than marrying a doctor.”

“Shit. I’d better drop Puck a line. She getting married in New York?”

“Arizona, actually.”

Finn turned around and dried off his hands. “That’s perfect!” He beamed. “We could go on a road trip together! I can drive you across to Arizona and then sell my truck for scrap in Cali. You can fly back, or go explore the coast!”

“You’re sure this is a good idea?” Kurt said, remembering the last time he spent several days in Finn's company.

“It won’t be like Nettle Lake,” Finn said, essentially reading his mind. “I swear.”

“Good. I’m not going to eat beanie weenies for a week and share your tent because _someone_ burned a hole in mine when he was trying to light the grill.”

Hands dry, Finn reached for his beer and drained the rest. He peered under the cloth and poked the dough with his finger. “C’mon. It’ll be awesome.”

“If, and only _if_ , you let me plan the itinerary.”

“I think it was Jim Morrison who once said that if you expose yourself to your deepest fear, fear has no power after that. The whole point of being on the road is to stop thinking about it, and just _do it_.”

Kurt scowled at him. He didn’t know who Jim Morrison _was_ ; some baseball player, probably. “My biggest fear is ending up in the middle of the desert with an empty tank of gas and listening to you spout a whole bunch of quotes from ‘Easy Rider’ like a 15 year-old who just discovered Bukowski and thinks he’s the deepest thinker ever.”

“What’s wrong with ‘Easy Rider’?”

“Everything,” Kurt said, although he hadn’t ever watched that movie. “Let me plan a daily itinerary, or we are not going.”

“Fine, fine.” Finn sighed as he poked his dough, forlorn. “I think I killed the yeast.”

Kurt sighed as he peered into the bowl. Less than a week into a summer in Lima, Ohio, and Finn was getting upset over home baking. If Kurt didn’t agree to this, he’d likely be facing a month of reality TV, heart-healthy dinners, avoiding homophobes, and singing Bing Crosby to nursing home residents who would likely mistake him for a Keebler Elf. 

He looked at Finn, dead on. “I’m on.”

“Then let’s hit the road, Jack!”

\--

That evening, Kurt’s heart felt a little lighter, like a pumice stone floating in water. They sat down and made a list of things they wanted to see and do which soon turned into a list of _giant tires_ and _all you can eat barbecue_ and _giant all you can eat barbecue._ They ended up on the couch together, Kurt leaning back against Finn’s chest with his legs sprawled out in front of him as he jotted down potential ideas. Kurt tilted his head back and didn’t complain when Finn gently rubbed at his hair.

It was cozy. The Fireside Treats candle Finn had picked out at the mall was comforting, and made him think of frosty fall nights rather than the sticky reality of summer in the Midwest. The uninspiring scenery of rural Ohio wouldn’t be plaguing him for much longer, though. Kurt smiled, writing down ‘Dollywood’ on his sheet of paper.

“No.” Finn was adamant. “I’m drawing the line at Dollywood.”

“ _Fine_ , then. I’ll veto the Jack Daniels distillery in Lynchburg.”

“Okay. No distillery. What about the Breaking Bad bus tour?”

“That show, and its spin-offs, are so overrated. Now, Weeds. There’s a show about drugs that actually had heart, rather than heartbreak.”

Finn tugged lightly on the strand of Kurt’s hair he was holding. “Have you ever even _seen_ Breaking Bad?”

“Like I need to. I’ve seen every single plot point on the internet by now.” Kurt paused. “You want to go to Vancouver? See where they filmed Supernatural? After all, going on this trip with you pretty much makes me a brother with a death wish.”

“Sure. I don’t drive an Impala, but my truck _is_ pretty badass.”

“It’s so far off being badass it has a halo over its dented roof.” Kurt paused. “Are we going West through Nebraska and Colorado, or South through Tennessee and Arkansas?”

“South, for sure. I’ll get altitude sickness in Colorado.”

“What crap. You and Rach go to Lake Tahoe most winters!”

“Yeah, and I spend the first night puking my guts out!”

“See?” Kurt tried to relax into Finn’s chest, but wriggled his back, a little uneasy. “We’re already bickering about this, and we haven’t even left the house. Why don’t we both write down what we want from this trip, and we can see what overlaps?”

“Fair enough. You’re in charge of the packing list, right?”

Kurt flipped over his sheet of paper, speaking as he wrote. “Duct tape, torque wrench, jumper cables…”

“You won’t need all _that_. I gave my truck a tune-up just the other week.”

“They’re for when I want to shut you up and get five minutes’ peace,” Kurt explained. “I’m going to go upstairs and bring down my flip-chart. We need to make some ground rules so I don’t end up throwing you off the Grand Canyon.”

\--

After a whole evening of planning and Finn drawing what looked a lot like football plays, they decided on following I-40 through to Memphis, and taking Route 66 through Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Arizona. They’d attend Quinn’s wedding, with Kurt spending the night at a hotel near LAX and flying back the following morning. They made one last stop at the mall for provisions: Kurt purchased SPF 50, two crates of bottled water, and some new hiking boots; Finn purchased new socks, some antiperspirant, a car air freshener that smelled like Macintosh apples, and a tank top with the shark from Jaws on the front.

When they shared their plans with an overjoyed Carole that evening, Kurt shared her enthusiasm, but couldn’t quite shake the feeling he was in for a very long ten days.


	3. Chapter 3

Carole waved them off the following morning. Kurt’s eyes bugged out as he watched Finn’s truck eat up gas faster than Finn himself had eaten up the pecan waffles Kurt had made him for breakfast that morning. While Finn went to pay, Kurt surreptitiously peeled off the ‘Teachers Do It with Class’ bumper sticker on the rear window of the truck, placing it in his pocket. They took I-75 and chatted away about how happy they were to be leaving the city neither now called home. The scenery along the interstate might have sucked, but the company didn’t.

“Oh, Rachel,” Kurt sighed, watching Finn speed over the bridge and cross the Ohio River, entering Kentucky. "Her movie’s duller than the Rag and Bone capsule wardrobe her stylist makes her wear. She’s a sitting duck these days.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?” Finn said, digging his hand into the bag of Sour Patch kids that rested in the center console.

“I didn’t realize being shacked up with someone made them off-limits.”

“What?” Finn brushed grains of sugar from his shorts. “We haven’t _shacked up_ in two years, and I forgot about all the times you told me off for ripping on Blaine when you were married to the guy.”

“That was different,” Kurt muttered. He cranked the stereo down after Finn put on some alternative rock song he didn’t recognize. “Can we have some actual music next?”

“You miss him, don’t you,” Finn said, turning the stereo back up. “Or is it your musical movie nights you miss, when you musical movie made-out.”

Kurt scowled. He reached across and grabbed the bag of candy, placing it between his legs. He knew Finn wouldn’t want to reach them if he put them there. He stared out of the window, and enjoyed the fact there was at least _some_ greenery to occupy the eye as they passed through Covington.

“Sorry, dude. I…“ Finn started, trailing off.

“I don’t miss _that_.” Kurt looked back to Finn, whose eyes were focused on the road. “I miss the intimacy. I miss the way he used to act as a human pillow while I watched any movie, bad reality show, or trashy celebrity biography that took my fancy after a hard day of rehearsals. I miss him rubbing my feet, and bringing me fruit plates.”

“And?” Finn turned to him and smiled. “I can do that, too. Just don’t, y’know, drool on me like you did when you fell asleep on me last night.”

Kurt’s cheeks warmed a little; he’d been ridiculously comfortable on the couch, and it wasn’t _his_ fault Carole hadn’t woken them up. “So. What’s in St. Louis?”

“A giant arch? Toasted ravioli?” Finn easily reached over and snatched back his bag of candy, narrowly missing Kurt’s inner thigh. “Us?”

“Oh, I missed you too, you big lug. I don’t know why you’re insistent on living on the opposite side of the country. What do you even _get_ from it if you’re not planning on getting back together with Rachel?”

“It’s a place, I guess, even if it’s not _my_ place.” Finn spoke through a mouthful of candy. “Southern California’s got everything you need, but it’s never felt like home.” For a while, Finn continued to eat, the only noise in the truck his chewing and the hum of the occasional car as Kurt searched through his music player for something more palatable than daytime radio. “What’s New York like? You know, in the summer?”

“Sticky. Humid. The city gets so angry it’s like walking into a swarm of bees hitting you with their tiny bee briefcases. I _hate_ it. It’s why I usually try my best to do a touring production in the summer, if I can.” Pausing, Kurt took a slurp of his drink. “You’d love it in the fall. There’s nothing like grabbing a steaming cup of spiced cider and kicking through the piles of leaves in Central Park.”

“Sounds awesome. I only visited in the fall that once, when Rach had just started at NYADA, and…” Finn shrugged one shoulder, not needing to tell Kurt how _that_ turned out. “You okay if we pull over for a bathroom break?”

“If I had a _second_ bathroom, I’d suggest we all spend Thanksgiving at my place this year.”

Finn nudged Kurt as the music started up. “I… know a place,” he sung in a stupidly cheesy falsetto. “Where the grass is really green-er!”

“You can visit me on one condition.”

“Yeah?”

“You never, ever attempt to sing Katy Perry again.”

\--

The truck sped through Kentucky. Kurt wriggled in the passenger seat; driving felt a little alien to him after so many years in the city.

“Why does that watercooler say Florence, y’all?” Finn asked, as they passed the landmark on I-75.

“I remember driving past it with my mother when I was just a kid. We were going to the antiques mall, I think. She told me that it _did_ say Florence Mall, but they had to change it to comply with a regulation. My mother knew a _lot_ of useless trivia.”

Finn laughed. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh. You wanna go back and grab something to eat?”

“That’s probably the most interesting thing about the place. I’d rather be in _Italy_ , y’all.”

“Either we stop for lunch here, or in Louisville,” Finn said. “Home of the Kentucky Derby, and not much else.” 

Kurt wanted to tell Finn that the big lug had just driven them through _Cincinnati_ , and they would probably not strike a city of that size again until they hit Los Angeles, but he didn’t want to spoil the breezy atmosphere inside the truck. “Churchill Downs might be fun. There aren’t too many places in the Midwest where a handsome young fella can wear a panama hat and drink mint juleps.” Pausing, Kurt watched Finn crank up the A/C. “At least, not without facing torrents of abuse.”

“Isn’t that cruel to the horses?”

“No less cruel than the veal parmigiana you had last time you visited me in New York, Mr. Animal Rights.”

\--

They decided to make a brief stop in Florence. Kurt enjoyed a lemonade and a brief perusal of the antiques mall before he took the wheel and they rejoined I-71. After a heated debate about whether Pleasure Ridge Park was a theme park or a massive strip club (neither, as it turned out), they chatted away and were soon passing Louisville, turning West to experience the Ohio Scenic River Byway. The backroads turned out to be nowhere near as scenic as Kurt had anticipated. 

“Kurt!” Finn said, his voice more exuberant than Kurt had heard in an hour. “We gotta go.”

“Where? To the store that sells new brothers?”

“No, but I’m gonna _want_ one if you don’t let me visit.” Finn poked at the GPS. “You gotta admit you’re curious.”

“It’s already late. We are not pulling over until we reach St. Louis.” Kurt lowered his voice. “Unless you need the bathroom. _Again_. For such a big guy, you have a bladder the size of a dipping dot."

“I wanna see Santa Claus.”

“Santa Claus?”

“The town. In Indiana.” Finn tapped at the GPS with his finger. “Look, it’s right _there_. Please? You know how much I love Christmas, and you might try to be all adult and humorless about it, but I know it’s your favorite holiday, too.”

“It is. It’ll still be there in six months’ time, too.”

“I promise I won’t ask you for a single thing for the rest of the day. You can choose the music _and_ where we go for dinner. _Please_?”

Kurt stared at him. His music player, set to shuffle, picked – of all things – Barbra Streisand’s ‘The Way We Were’.  He remembered Rachel singing that to him that Christmas, drunk on limoncello. The less Finn knew about that Christmas, the better.

“Don’t you want to find out if you’re been naughty or nice?” Finn laughed, good-naturedly. “My money’s not on _nice_ , that’s for sure. Santa would only need to check his list once to see –“

“Just shut up.”

“You don’t want to sit on Santa’s lap?”

“Fine!” Kurt threw one of his hands up in the air, the other clutching the wheel for dear life. “Do you remember back in 2012, when some jerk broke into the loft?” Kurt said, waiting for a giant sinkhole to appear right in front of the truck. “You were really annoyed at me for the, and I quote, _crappy_ gift you received.”

“A scarf.” Finn looked to Kurt. “Yeah, it sucked that you guys got broken into. Maybe it’s because your loft had, like, a revolving door that was never locked. I have no idea why you hate _Santa_ for that. All I knew was you were pissed off, and you wouldn’t tell me why.”

The sinkhole did not appear. Reluctantly, Kurt drove towards the Christmas-themed town and told Finn the story of Cody the con artist whose abs were almost as impressive as his treachery. “And so,” Kurt continued, unable to stop for some reason even he himself couldn’t fathom, “we were singing along to Christmas songs. I had a little limoncello. The next thing I knew, Cody had a harness and –“

Finn’s cheeks were redder than any reindeer’s nose. “Went all 50 Shades of Santa?”

Kurt nodded, mute.

“So you _could_ say, you were claustrophobic.”

“I _hate_ you.” Kurt reached for an unopened bag of candy and lobbed it at Finn’s head. “I _hate_ you! How can you find that funny? He took my favorite coffee table book!”

gh

“Shit. He didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to, did he?”

“No. It was a very pleasant evening, up until the helium…” he said, sliding down in his seat a little as he remembered how his New York friends had been a little less concerned about his wellbeing and more irate about his colossal stupidity. “Okay. We’re visiting for ten minutes, and then you’re going to drive for the rest of the day because I need to drown my humiliation in something. Good job we got most of our stuff back from a local pawn shop.”

“Sorry.” Finn tore open another bag of candy. “Look, I’d have probably done the same thing. The color red gets me fired up. This one year, Rachel dressed up as Ms. Claus. She put a candy cane in her –“

“If the next word you say is anything other than _mouth_ , I’m drinking Santa Claus dry. Eggnog-flavored schnapps or not.”

\--

Kurt pulled into the small town. He knew he was always going to be something of a pushover when the side of Finn that was an overgrown kid reared its head. They got out, and Kurt didn’t even flinch when Finn made a tasteless joke about the sign imploring them to ‘Share the Love of Christmas’. The town was replete with twinkle lights that were barely visible in the late June sun, and there were far too many police cruisers. Kurt really didn’t see a need for them other than to arrest people for crimes against humanity.

“Let’s take a picture here!” Finn exclaimed, running towards a snowman water fountain with so much joy that Kurt was convinced he’d take off in flight. “We should buy my mom some tree ornaments!”

Kurt took a snap of them, and instantly uploaded it to Facebook.

 _How is Finn like Santa Claus?_ Santana commented. _He wears the same outfit year after year_.

“She’s not getting what’s in _my_ sack if she wants to have a kid with Brittany,” Finn mumbled.

Kurt bit his lip and refrained from making jokes about Finn’s _sack_. He let Finn lead him to a café which proclaimed it made the world’s best frozen hot chocolates. Kurt, who used to have weekly dessert dates at Serendipity with Blaine, was more than dubious. Their drinks were passable, but Finn dipped the giant candy cane into his drink with gusto as they consumed them in silence. Kurt stared out of the window at the giant inflatable Santa and the even larger inflatable pine tree and wondered why he was so content to let the embarrassment and obscenely tacky scenery wash over him like a gentle summer storm.

\--

When they drove on, Kurt took a slight detour, following some of the backroads. The scenery was little different from the flat, summer-dusty landscape they’d seen all day, but they soon passed small settlements with quirkier names as they dipped briefly into Illinois, driving through the Garden of the Gods. They agreed to stop for a short hike around the sandstone bluffs, and Kurt soon regretted it; he’d worn his new hiking boots while doing yard work, but his heels were blistered. Finn didn’t even ask before he cut short their hike, took Kurt’s hand, and walked him back to the truck. He let Kurt prop his feet up on the dashboard while he took the wheel, rejoining the Interstate as soon as he could. Finn had picked up a candy cane from the gift shop he’d visited in Santa Claus, and the truck smelled exactly like Kurt remembered it smelling back in high school.

It was comforting, but a little cloying; he wound down the window, and then wound it right back up, the Missouri heat whacking him in the face like steam from a locker room.

Before he knew it, he was drifting off, and awoke to hear a voice wash over him.

 _Finn’s voice_.

Everyone but Kurt had always persuaded Finn to give music teaching a shot, or even P.E. Instead, he’d settled on social studies. When Kurt had asked him why, Finn was succinct in saying it was all about how people interacted with the world. People, Finn had said, were one of the very few things people told him he _got_.

It was ironic, because very few people actually got _Finn_.

For a man who’d once sung lead on a song that had won his Glee club a Nationals trophy, Finn didn’t sing much these days. Kurt heard him sing along to ‘Can’t Fight This Feeling’ without an ounce of self-censoring. His voice was a little raw, making Kurt want to fidget in his seat. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t sensual. Despite the impossibility of Finn crashing through his door for any other reason than clumsily telling Kurt he had a splinter that needed removing, Kurt basked in the rich, smooth baritone.

The truck bumped a little, Kurt’s eyes flying open, a little shocked to realize the sun had set completely. He made an exaggerated yawn, and hoped the truck’s much darker interior was able to hide the blush that sat high on his cheeks.

“Sorry I woke you up,” Finn said, shaking his head. “I just can’t _not_ sing along to R.E.O Speedwagon. They’re, like, my musical Jerusalem.”

Kurt had no idea what he was talking about, and closed his eyes again as the song segued into The Doors’ ‘Light My Fire’. Unexpectedly, Finn continued to sing along, in a way that _did_ make Kurt fidget.

“I wanted to sing this in Glee, but Mr. Schue said it was too carnal.” Finn turned to Kurt, a little hapless. “I spent ages trying to work out why Jim Morrison was singing to a _grill_.”

“You thought it was _actually_ about lighting a fire?”

“I was seventeen. I made the mistake of trusting Quinn’s definition of the word. I didn’t realize she was pissed at me wanting to sing it to _Rachel_.” Finn looked down at his lap a little, then continued to focus on the road. “Check it out, we’re nearly there! I never saw the Gateway Arch before. It’s like half a giant McDonald’s sign.”

The performance had captured Kurt’s attention so much he hadn’t realized they were approaching St. Louis. The Gateway Arch was illuminated, shining in the cobalt sky. It was flanked by a series of mid-rise hotels and businesses, the old courthouse building sitting primly in the middle. It felt like Kurt had hit civilization for the first time in over a week. Or, at least, what passed for it in the Midwest.

“It’s the tallest arch in the world. The pride of Missouri, although ironically,” Kurt said, proud at remembering the knowledge, “the steel used in its construction came from Pennsylvania.”

“You swallow a history book, or…?”

“I happen to find history interesting. I thought you did, too.”

Finn slammed on the brakes when they hit a sudden stoplight. He reached over, and gently placed his hand on Kurt’s elbow.

“Don’t.” Kurt snatched his hand away. “You don’t have to pacify me. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

“Jeez.” Finn’s voice sounded a little wet as he pulled into the parking lot of a Quality Inn. “There’s no need for that. I _love_ listening to all the crap you swallow from history books, or Wikipedia, or the National Geographic, or whatever. God knows, for a teacher I sure could use some educating. I just wanna… experience.”

Kurt rubbed at his elbow, his skin itching for Finn’s contact. Maybe _that_ was what was making him irate; the man had no idea how devastating he could be.  “I shouldn’t have lashed out. I don’t drive in New York, and we’ve done, what, six hundred miles today?”

“We’ll can take it easy in St. Louis tomorrow,” Finn said. “Let’s see if this place has vacancies, then grab some dinner.”

\--

The Quality Inn, Kurt assumed, must have been a better quality than the Econo Lodge they eventually found. It was across the street from an Italian restaurant with weeds outside and a flag which was hung the wrong way. The suburban area wasn’t too much of an anticlimax as Kurt was happy just to rest his head. He didn’t complain about the yellow and red carpet which clashed with the light pink walls; clean and safe was adequate for their first night on the road.

“Hurry up and coif your coif!” Finn told him. “My stomach’s so empty it’s about to eat itself.”

“I’m fully coiffed!”

“Seriously, just _pick_ somewhere.” Finn rubbed at his stomach. “If I don’t eat soon I’m gonna pass out. How about that Italian? It looks like a dump outside, but I looked online and there’s patio seating so we can get some fresh air. We could even get some wine?”

“You _hate_ wine.”

“That Moscato stuff’s okay.”

“Moscato is more passé than wearing chucks with dress pants,” Kurt said. “How about that barbecue place you were eyeballing on the way in?” Kurt smiled sweetly, swinging his legs in front of himself. “Give me ten minutes to powder my legs. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

“Powder your _legs_?”

Kurt nodded. “I thought I’d wear my leather pants.”

Finn squinted. He looked down at his own belt buckle. “Did you watch ‘Easy Rider’ too?”

“No, but I wanted to wear something that symbolizes rebellion and adventure,” Kurt said. “Didn’t you tell me that’s what a road trip’s about?”

“It’s 84 degrees outside,” Finn said. “Wear shorts, or this road trip’s gonna be about Squirmy the Ringworm.” He walked over to the bed and pulled Kurt to his feet. “No, seriously. I’ve seen the pamphlet, dude. Fungal infections are pretty traumatic stuff.”

\--

When Kurt sat down and felt the sweat behind the back of his knees, he acknowledged Finn had a point. He wasn’t entirely sure the glances his leather pants and buffalo skull bolo tie were receiving were admiring ones. Following Finn’s lead, he ordered a full rack of ribs. He stopped eating when Finn snorted so hard that he sprayed sweet tea on his lap.

“What’s so funny?” Kurt reached into his pocket and extracted his travel pack of wet wipes, dabbing around his mouth. “I’m _fine_ with getting a little messy, and I’m prepared for such situations. That’s more than I can say for _you_.”

“No. It’s just…” Finn waved his hands about. “The beer.”

“I’m happy with my beer.” Kurt wrinkled his nose. “I’m _trying_ to be happy with my beer.” He took another small sip. “Is it working?”

“You look like you’re sucking on a freeze pop made from battery acid.” Finn snatched the beer away from Kurt, and took a swig himself. He then flagged down a passing waitress. “Excuse me? Ma’am? What wines you got?"

The waitress glared like Finn had thrown his food right back in her face. “Are your girlfriends joining you?”

“Nah. Just me and my brother. Can you get him a glass of…” Finn scrunched his nose, then grinned. “It’s red with red meat, right?”

“Sure I can. So long as your _kid brother_ can show me his ID.”

“You just served me a beer!” Kurt protested, extracting his driver’s license from his wallet.

Finn laughed as she walked away, a noticeable sway to her hips. “You want me to ask for one of those kid menus you color in?”

Kurt glared at him, then continued to eat his ribs with a knife and fork. The waitress soon returned with a dusty bottle of wine which looked most unpromising, and poured Kurt a glass, sliding it over to him, some of the red liquid dripping onto the wipe-clean tablecloth underneath.

“I’m too predictable,” Kurt said. He chewed on a forkful of mashed potatoes. “The moment my beer arrived, it tasted like dirty soil, and I thought, ‘I’d die for a juicy Merlot right now.’"

“You are _never_ predictable. You just know what you like.” Finn reached for the beer Kurt had gifted to him, and took another sip. “If there’s anything you want to do on this trip, anything _I_ can do, you gotta let me know. I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“I _have_.”

“Then why are you being all sulky?”

“I am _not_ ,” Kurt insisted, taking a large sip of wine. He felt the sharp liquid hit the back of his throat. “Okay. Perhaps I’m a little sulky. You don’t spend ten years around Rachel Berry and not have _some_ of her diva-like behavior rub off on you.”

“Hey. Kurt, look at me, okay?” Finn smiled. “Sometimes, you and Rach can be so alike it scares me. The rest of the time? You couldn’t be more different.” Finn shuffled forward a little, his long legs barely fitting under his side of the booth, and his knees brushed against Kurt’s. “I’m gonna tell you what I told her, right before I persuaded her to rent that cabin in Sandusky. It’s _okay_ to be tired. It’s okay to want to sit back, chill out, and do nothing. The whole reason we’re here is to relax and reconnect. To let go of the stress we put ourselves under. It’s all about stopping to smell the scenery, man.”

“I did. It smelled like eggnog and manure, and gave me a blister the size of Lake Erie.”

“Can I try some of your wine?” Finn asked, and set his cutlery down when Kurt offered him a glass. He took a large sip, then immediately reached for his water. “ _That’s_ what a Merlot tastes like? Peh.”

“It _is_. Just not a particularly good one.” He raised his glass. “To us, on the open road. Day one’s drawing to a close, and we haven’t even thought about killing each other yet.”

 “Yet,” Finn said, lifting up his bottle of beer. “To us!”

“To us!” Kurt said, clinking their drinks. He took another sip of wine and let the acrid liquid assault his gullet. There would be a time for fine dining and finer wines later, but as far as first days went, Kurt found himself thinking it was a rather good one.

\--

It was around eleven when they arrived back to their motel room, enjoying a walk back through the quiet streets. Kurt changed into his pajamas while Finn took a shower and soon, Finn was tangled up in the sheets snoring gently. A little enviously, Kurt watched him from his own bed, tossing and turning. His sleep was restless, and he tried not to think about the fact the room had seen even more illicit activity than the back of Finn’s truck. He drifted off to the dripping of the inefficient air conditioning unit, and the occasional burst of late-night traffic from the poorly-sealed window.

When he next woke, it was bright. _Too_ bright. Light permeated the holes in the cheap curtains, and there was a dull pounding in Kurt’s skull like he’d been run over by a monster truck with spikes on its wheels.

“Hey, you’re up!” Finn called out.

Kurt looked at the clock on the nightstand. It wasn’t quite yet six, but Finn was sat up, tugging a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, tank top riding up a little. He’d have happily climbed into Finn’s bed at that moment, but his brain wasn’t quite sleep-deprived enough for that thought to take over. “Go back to sleep,” he said.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“No.” Kurt slumped back down against the pillows. Even that small movement felt like a knife going through his eyes. He whimpered with the pain, high and needy. _Pathetic_. Finn didn’t need to see this side of him, despite him professing he wanted to see every side. The man was as fit as a fiddle, and didn’t even get an upset stomach from the meat products of dubious provenance he liked to eat; he knew sports injuries, and little else.

“You got a hangover?” Finn said, laughing a little.

“I had _one glass_ ,” Kurt said, although the wine had been so cheap that Finn might have a point. He reached for the pillow beside him, and covered his face; self-smothering seemed like a fairly good idea. “Just refrain from watching that kid’s cartoon with the talking gems and fit yourself with a muffler to stop that horrendous snoring and I’ll be fine.” 

Kurt heard the bed next to him creak. There was a squeak, and Kurt soon felt a cool bottle in his hand. “Drink this, and take some pain pills,” Finn said. “Anything else you need?”

“I don’t think so,” Kurt said, and extracted the pillow. He saw Finn had placed a pill bottle on the nightstand and he tossed back a double helping. “It’s clearly because you’re stressing me out.”

“Nah, it’s because you drank booze a 14 year-old girl at a slumber party would turn down.”

“They never got hangovers like this in ‘Sideways’,” Kurt muttered. “Then again, they weren’t drinking wine made from Satan’s blood and Santana’s perfume.”

“It’s cool. It’s no big deal.”

“Maybe it’s _this_ place. Would it have killed you to have stumped up the extra ten bucks for a room with ventilation?”

“Sorry. Sorry, I thought that –“

“Well think harder,” Kurt snapped back at him. “Think yourself back to bed. It’s about time I got used to dealing with things on my own, hm?”

“I’m off to find a grocery store,” Finn said. He sounded more resigned than angry and soon tugged on a clean shirt, his skin looking pale in the watery morning light. “Text me what you want so I don’t screw _that_ up, too.”

\--

Finn returned within an hour. The painkillers had taken most of the edge off; Kurt apologized and he mostly felt sleepy now, his vision fogging a little as he finished his water. Finn explained it was no big deal; he was used to people telling him he’d done the wrong thing. That made Kurt feel even guiltier, and he feigned sleep as Finn told him he’d brought the cooler up from the truck and filled it with a variety of drinks. He’d also bought a portable fan, Kurt’s favorite brand of trail mix, and some wristbands with ice packs in them which he stared were _military cool_ and something Kurt could rock.

“You could rock a _mailbag_ ,” Finn muttered, as Kurt kept his eyes closed. He gently placed his hand on Kurt’s forehead. “You sleep it off as best you can. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Kurt honestly didn’t have any need to call Finn. He slept in until midday, eating some of the snacks Finn had purchased and watching re-runs of Bitchin’ Kitchen while his waistline expanded by food TV osmosis. Mid-way through watching Nadia G make a Hawaiian burger that he would have to make for Finn one day, Finn himself came bounding in.

“I got you something!” Finn said, holding a brown paper bag. He looked every inch the dorky tourist, his lobster pink neck clashing with the red McKinley Titans shirt he wore. “I remember a few summers back, we were hate watching Paula Deen together and she made gooey butter cake. Your eyes were like saucers. I asked around, remembering it was a Missouri thing, and there was this bakery with a super long line outside so I figured it was a good place to grab one.”

“Gimme,” Kurt said, snatching the bag away.

Finn frowned. “How’s your headache?”

Kurt ignored him; his headache had been replaced by the pain in his empty stomach. He immediately tore open the bag, wondering how Finn could forget important things like putting on his socks or buying kitchen roll, but always remembered the smaller details. It was probably because he’d spent several years living with someone as high-maintenance as Rachel Berry.

“Well? Are you going to eat it, or stare at it?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Kurt said, as he took a bite. The dense dessert stuck in his throat a little. “Did you want some?”

“I already _had_ some,” Finn said, but snatched a bite. “I can always go for more.”

Kurt sat up in bed as he continued to munch on the treat. “What did you get up to?”

“I checked out the Ballpark Village, which was pretty cool. Walked around downtown, and had a bite to eat. It was a real nice morning, so I took a tram to the top of the Arch. By the time I’d got in line and tried to cram my stupid body in one of those tiny sky buckets, it was getting pretty windy. This automated voice told me I’d be able to see all the way out to the Mississippi but suddenly the buckets lurched, and it started to storm. I freaked out, remembering you told me lightning always goes for the tallest object.”

 “Try crouching.”

“I meant the Arch, you jerk.” Finn swatted at Kurt. “Anyway, this girl in my sky bucket told me about the city and we hung out for a while. We grabbed a frozen custard and then I went to get your butter cake, and I came back here.” Finn wrapped his arm around Kurt, tugging him close. “How’s the headache. Really?”

“Better until _you_ showed up.”

Finn reached down into his pocket and extracted his phone. “Check it out. Erin, that girl I met, took these pictures of me. It looks like I’m holding the Arch. Cool, huh?”

“You look like you’re _humping_ the Arch.” Kurt smiled. “I’m glad you had a good morning.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t the same without you.” Finn placed his hand on Kurt’s forehead and smoothed back his bangs. “I wish you’d been there,” he said quietly. “There’s something about the rain that’s just…”

“Romantic,” Kurt finished, his body relaxing. “Especially in summer. Even if you’re there with your step-brother who has designs on a girl who knows the best frozen custard joints in town.”

“You ever kissed anyone in the rain?”

Kurt startled a little. The question seemed oddly intimate. “No. There was this one time. Blaine and I had just finished our dessert date at Serendipity. We were walking through Central Park, enjoying a beautiful spring day. One minute, Blaine was telling me about the atrocious airbrushing Charlize Theron received when she was on the cover of Dior Magazine, and the next thing we knew, the skies opened up. Just as we’d passed Bethesda Fountain.”  Kurt laughed, the memory seeming a little alien to him. “Blaine shrieked. He took my hand and dragged me across to the terrace, muttering about his hair, and the rain, and… I was worried about the wool and cashmere-blend Lanvin pants I’d snuck out of the Vogue vault _myself_ , but I was so annoyed. It seemed like such a wasted opportunity.”

“That sucks.” 

Kurt nodded. “It happened a lot.”

“Getting caught in the rain?”

“No. Wasted opportunities.”

“I had a moment like that today,” Finn confessed. “With Erin, that girl I met. She was cute, and funny. We even had a belching contest.”

“You know I wouldn’t have begrudged you a summer romance.”

Finn kept rubbing at Kurt’s temples. “I didn’t go on a road trip with _you_ to pick up girls.” 

“Well, that makes two of us, then!”

“Blaine’s an idiot,” Finn said, rubbing his knuckles against Kurt’s shoulder. “If I had a chance like that with my – with someone I loved, I wouldn’t care about my pants getting wet, or hair gel running down my face. If I was outside, in the moment? I wouldn’t be thinking of _anything_.”

“You? Not think?” Kurt closed his eyes, relaxing into Finn’s touch. “That makes a change.”

“Oh, shut up,” Finn said, his voice gentle. “Can I try something?”

“Sure. But not the rest of my gooey butter cake, because that’s resting in my gooey butter stomach.”

Finn’s fingers rubbed gently at Kurt’s crown, then traced across to his hairline. When Kurt smiled at the sensation, Finn added a little more pressure. Kurt knew his forehead was sweatier than Gwyneth Paltrow after a hot yoga session, but he relaxed into it, feeling the last remnants of his headache vanish. By the time Finn’s hands rubbed at his shoulders and moved down to the top of his back, Kurt suspected he was nothing but a giant puddle to be mopped from the sheets. Every last bit of tension had dissolved from him and escaped right back to the suburban hell of Lima, Ohio.

“Did that help any?”

“Mm.” Kurt didn’t trust himself to speak in full sentences. “How did you…?”

“I got stress headaches a lot after I washed out of the Army, and mom used to do that for me. She also used to soak a washcloth in vinegar, but the guy who served me at the bakery gave me an odd look when I asked for some, so.”

“Good. I don’t want to smell like fair fries.” Kurt paused. “Are you happy to go out again and sightsee a little more? I’d love to go to Lafayette Square and see the ‘Meet Me in St. Louis’ house.”

“The _what,_ now?”

“Okay. I know what movie we’re watching on my laptop this evening.”

“Didn’t Carole take your laptop away?”

“Poor, gullible Carole, thinking I just had the one.”

Finn huffed out audibly. “Hoping isn’t the same as thinking, Kurt.”

\--

The pair had a gentle evening. It was sticky and muggy, and Kurt was sure there was another storm brewing. The skies didn’t rain down on them as they explored the city, though, turning stony grey then graphite. Kurt eventually found a wine bar that sold him a Merlot so rich with tannins he almost had to chew it. He let the conversation from the tourists and locals around him surround him like soap suds, indistinct and pleasantly frothy, as Finn amused him with his commentary on people-watching. 

Finn declared they were going to try the famous St. Louis pizza; to his and Kurt’s dismay, they soon realized it was famous for all the wrong reasons.

“This is a letdown,” Kurt said, poking at the squeaky layer of Provel cheese atop his crust. “It’s like they put Easy Cheese on a stale cracker and thought we wouldn’t notice.”

"Totally.” Finn sighed, and it must have been a sorry excuse for food if _he_ was pushing it around the plate. This was a man who dipped pizza rolls in nacho cheese. “I’m beginning to see why St. Louis pizza never made it out of St. Louis. You think it needs more cheese?”

“Yours has so much cheese you can’t even see the base.”

Finn tried another bite, then poked the slice, a little angry. “Piling a load of crap on something you don’t like is never a good idea. I mean, less is more, right?” Finn took a slice of greasy pepperoni from his pizza, and dangled it from his fingertips before shoving it in his mouth. “It’s sort of like relationships. You can do whatever you like to try and make it work, but if the foundations suck?”

“True.” Kurt cringed as Finn followed up his pepperoni mouthful with a large slurp of his malt. “Look at my marriage. The foundation was thinner than this old thing, yet –“

“You miss him. Like I said, I’m not going to judge you for that.”

“First loves do a number on you, don’t they?” Kurt admitted, wishing he could just go back to the motel room and watch his movie. The conversation threatened to turn as heavy as the pizza rolls Finn loved so much.

Finn slurped on his straw, hands-free. “I even miss Quinn, sometimes,” he said, a little sadly. “You give a lot of yourself to someone, and you’re going to miss those parts you gave away.”

Kurt nodded. He took another dry mouthful of pizza, feeling it stick in his throat a little when Finn flashed him a bashful smile, his eyes darting back to his malt as soon as they made eye contact. “Sometimes I think I’m never going to get those parts back,” he said.

“Well so what!” Finn wiped his mouth off on a napkin. “You have so many awesome parts they’re coming out of your freaking ears, so screw him. You deserve a guy who makes you feel like –“

“The luckiest guy in Manhattan.” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Luckiest guy in the _world_ ,” Finn said. “I used to feel like that back when I first moved out to L.A. with Rachel, but…” Finn poked at his pizza again. “Never mind. You want to go back to the motel and order in? This is worse than that raw food pizza Sam Evans would eat on one of his crazy diets.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to give up on someone who makes you feel that way,” Kurt said. “Are you and Rachel really over?”

“You sure don’t seem to _want_ us to be,” Finn said, screwing up his napkin and throwing it down on his plate.

“I never _said_ that,” Kurt muttered as he watched Finn half-slump over the Formica table, slurping the rest of his malt through his wide blue straw like he was a petulant teenager at Breadstix all those years ago dealing with his new, reluctantly-acquired family. Kurt was right; Finn might get people, at least most of the time, but Kurt certainly didn’t always get _him_.


	4. Chapter 4

That night, Kurt fell asleep quickly, despite his lie-in. He woke up with clear eyes and a clear head, and enjoyed some local cream soda Finn had picked up on his travels the previous morning. The sugar enlivened his brain and rotted his teeth, and he felt ready to take on the world.

Or, at the very least, I-44. 

Finn drove them out of the city. Kurt admired the view and tried to tune out Finn’s protestations that they totally had enough time to visit Six Flags St. Louis. They didn’t, and Kurt pointed out to Finn that he spent his year around screaming kids and it was _their_ vacation, too. He acquiesced that he’d let Finn drag him to Magic Mountain when he was next in Southern California.

“What about visiting those caves, then?” Finn said, after they passed what must have been the fiftieth sign advertising the attraction.

“The Meramec Caverns?”

“Caves, caverns.” Finn shrugged one shoulder. “What’s the difference?”

Kurt wasn’t sure. He banged his fist down on the dashboard; the thermometer indicated it was ninety five degrees out. Clearly it was broken. When they passed a rickety barn with faded paint and cream-colored letters announcing ‘Jesse James Hideout’, he rolled his eyes. “Don Draper himself couldn’t have come up with a slicker advertising campaign. How could I possibly refuse?”

“Okay, so it’s commercial, but it sounds pretty cool.” Finn cleared his throat. “You’re not claustrophobic like Quinn, are you? This one time we tried making out in a closet, and…”

“Have you _seen_ my apartment? I write a blog for Apartment Therapy. I am fine with small spaces. I’m just certain that anything needing _this_ much advertising has got to be terrible. It’s pretty much the Route 66 equivalent of Carrie: the Musical.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The fact the Interstate is nothing more than an embarrassingly fecund breeding ground for kitsch. It’s a waste of yours, mine, or anyone’s money. It’s just a bunch of rock.”

“A bunch of rock with a _lighting rig_.”

Kurt huffed out a breath. “Let me guess, you’re nostalgic for Glee?”

“I was just thinking how we never did enough classic rock,” Finn said, the seat creaking as he adjusted the recline. “Like, ZZ Top always had a lighting rig. That’s some theatricality, right there.”

“Oh, but the bar would be set so high you’d never clear it,” Kurt said, looking to Finn who was nodding in earnest. Glowering at his step-brother’s awful music taste, Kurt turned up the music and saw yet another sign for the Caverns. The temperature gauge was reading ninety eight, now. “Doesn’t your A/C go any higher?”

“You mean lower, right?” Finn said, passing Kurt a mini fan.

“Oh shut up.” Kurt wiped at his forehead; the mini fan only served to make the sweat on his hairline dip down into his eyebrows.  “I imagine it’s cooler in the Caverns.”

“Yeah. It’s an even fifty eight degrees in those caves.”

“Caverns,” Kurt grumbled, starting to see the appeal of danker and drearier scenery, even if there _was_ a lighting rig. “I see your point.”

\--

They reached Stanton mid-morning. The parking lot backed on to the Meramec River, its waters an uneasy shade of swamp. Kurt rolled his eyes when he realized they’d have to walk through the gift shop to enter the Caverns. The cold air did chill his skin gloriously, and Kurt watched the hairs on his arms stand to attention with a pleasant shiver. He’d forgotten what sixty degrees without humidity felt like. The tour guide led them through the darkness; she looked and sounded far too much like Cher for Kurt’s comforts as she spoke about outlaws and bat guano.

“You okay?” Finn whispered. His cool hand brushed Kurt’s as he gently steered him back from the tour’s main group.

“I’m fine,” Kurt said, unable to deny his voice sounded shaky.

“Sure?”

Kurt paused, waiting until the main group were a few more footsteps ahead. “No,” he whispered. “I don’t think I am.”

Finn’s response was to take Kurt's hand and squeeze it. “Don’t worry. We’re safe in here. It’s not like that girl in the Ukraine who passed out drunk in the catacombs and was there for five days before…”

“Finn, _please_ ,” Kurt said. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. The scenery barely darkened. There was something about the smell and the chill of dripping water that reminded him of congealed spaghetti sauce; of the scratch and scrape of glass under his elbows. He’d been _tiny_ then, his hands clawing and scrambling to find purchase on the inside of a dumpster, like a helpless kitten trying to claw up the sides of the box.

“Kurt?”

“I need to go,” Kurt said, tugging himself away from Finn. “I need to go _now_ ,” he repeated, his lungs collapsing in on themselves with each breath.

“It’s okay.” Finn pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around him. “I got you. Don’t you have some Ambien in your purse?”

“It’s not a purse, it’s a _tote_.”

“Want me to ask the guide if there’s a hidden exit?” Finn passed Kurt his water bottle. “Quinn used one once when we went to this carnival in Dayton.”

“That surprises me. I didn’t think haunted houses phased her,” Kurt said, opening his eyes and drinking down the lukewarm liquid.

“They don't.” Finn’s smile was visible, wide and bright. “I brushed her bra strap when I put my arm around her and she said I was getting too handsy.”

Kurt cracked a smile back. He’d be okay. He took a few, small steps forward. The damp splashes of the water dripping from the stalactites soothed him, rather than frazzled his nerves. They were soon stood in front of a new cave formation, bathed in lilac light. It really was otherworldly, in appearance as well as tackiness. He mouthed a _thank you_ , taking in Finn’s trusting eyes and smile and felt his breathing quicken for a different reason. When Finn tucked some hair behind Kurt’s ear, it was a little _too_ much, and he looked down at the Caverns’ floor, cheeks beginning to warm.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes?” Kurt said, looking up and meeting the source of the high-pitched voice. Even in the darkness of the Caverns, he could tell that her hair was straw-yellow with dark roots. _White trash_ , he thought, a little cruelly. “Can I help you?”

“Y’all need to stop. This is a _family_ attraction.” 

“Oh, really?” Finn pulled Kurt tightly against him. “I don’t see _your_ kids.”

The woman – Kurt refused to call her a _lady_ – huffed. “I don’t care _what_ you two do up in New York, or Atlanta, or whichever big city you came from, but this is America. You need to uphold _American_ values.”

Finn pointed to the woman’s tacky stars and stripes fanny pack. “Are those _sequins_?”

Kurt smirked. Finn wasn't exactly screaming heterosexual at that moment. “We’re from Lima, Ohio. Boys can marry boys there, just like they can in the rest of America, so you might want to reconsider your definition of _family_ , and your definition of _values_.”

The lady laughed, anything but effacingly. None of the other tourists paid her any attention. “In the Bible, it says –“

“Ah, yes. I’m going to take the mistranslated myths of a nomadic desert tribe at face value.” Kurt kept his frosty smile up, but clutched the strap of his tote so tightly he felt his knuckles ache. “It’s no business of yours, but my _brother_ was trying to calm me down because I was reliving some unpleasant memories. The reason he had to do that was because I spent my childhood being bullied for being myself, and having it ignored by adults like _you_.”

“Oh honey.” The woman smiled, but her eyes didn’t move. “High school’s a little rough, huh?“

“He’s twenty six years old,” Finn said. “Are you blind as well as stupid?”

The woman just shot them both a glare. She turned around and walked back over to the main group who appeared to be enjoying the tacky Cavern light show, which was set to ‘Stars and Stripes Forever’. She stood next to a heavyset man Kurt assumed was her husband who wore sandals with socks and had a disastrous comb-over.

Finn leaned down a little to whisper in his ear. “I could kiss you right now,” he said, softly.

Kurt immediately dropped his bottle of water on his foot, and it rolled across the ground with a clunk. A score of eyes turned to stare at him, and he shrugged one shoulder. “Sorry!” he said, “I’m just a little overwhelmed. God Bless America!”

“We forgive you, Patriot!” a Southern-sounding voice called out. “God Bless!”

Kurt smiled falsely at them before he lowered his voice. “Kiss me? Here? Are you _insane_?”

“I…” Finn looked away a little. “I just thought it would shock that asshole woman who was giving you a hard time. She’d fall into the cave water with shock, drown in her own ignorance, and the world would be short of a homophobic jackass. That was all,” he said, his words rushing out.

“Noble.” Kurt looked at Finn’s lips, a little chapped from three days of travel and the dry cave air. “But unnecessary.”

Finn bent down then handed Kurt his dropped water bottle. “If you say so,” he muttered.

“Oh, I do say so.” They walked briskly, catching up with the rest of the main group. “There’s no greater cure for a distressing flashback than sheer, unadulterated rage.”

“Whatever,” Finn snapped back. “Let’s just try and enjoy the rest of the tour.”

“Seventy million years of geology combined with Mellencamp’s ‘R.O.C.K in the U.S.A.” Kurt smiled, a little fondly. “I have got to take my dad here when he’s back from Washington.”

“Mom would love this. She always wanted to see dinosaurs,” Finn said, his eyes boring holes into the skull of the blonde woman from earlier. “I did, too. I just thought I’d have to wait until we hit New Mexico.”

\--

Finn seemed a little muted after the Caverns; Kurt knew it was tacky, but he didn’t think it was _that_ awful. In fact, it was verging on the unintentionally hilarious. The moment they reached the parking lot, however, Finn extended his arms like a pterodactyl and ran over to the sign announcing zipline tours when a loudspeaker announced there was a last-minute cancellation. Kurt had pondered renting a raft and going on a gentle trip down the river, but he had to admit that zipping through the trees sounded like fun.

And? It was.

Kurt zoomed through the treetops, feeling lighter than air. His skin sweated and his stomach wobbled as he descended, dusting the grass from his knees as he reached the ground.

“This place really isn’t the hell-hole I thought it would be,” Kurt admitted, as they sat down in the restaurant. The shiny not-quite-oak dining tables and chairs with light blue gingham seat cushions gave it something of a retirement home air. “Thank you for being in my corner. Back in the caves.”

“It’s cool,” Finn said, his eyes shifting a little as he drowned his French fries in watery ketchup that came from a tomato-shaped plastic bottle. “Don’t mention it.”

\--

Finn took the wheel for the next leg. Going from cool caves to the sticky exertion of ziplining and then back to a truck with poor ventilation made Kurt’s eyes droop. He put on his sunglasses, but they did little to hide the humid glare and brighter skies ahead. Before he realized he was even asleep, he woke up with a bump, the truck pulling into what appeared to be a fire station.

“Sorry ‘bout the wake-up call,” Finn said. “You know my parallel parking sucks.”

“Where are we?” Kurt peered ahead and, yes, that was definitely a fire station. “The Ghostbusters Experience?”

“Ste. Genevieve, Missouri. This place has the best preserved French Colonial buildings in all of North America.” Finn opened the door and got out, his voice full of pride. “What? I’ve subbed in history before.”

“Yes, but this wasn’t on the itinerary, _Sir_.”

“Well, uh, I tried following the backroads, thought it would be neat, but I got a little lost. So I thought I’d call it quits and took I-55 because I know it ends up in Memphis.”

“It does?”

“I _think_ it does,” Finn said. “You want to grab a bite to eat? It’s getting late.”

Kurt looked at his phone, noting it was a little after five. “Oh my _god_. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“It’s all part of the adventure, right?”

Kurt wanted to be angry, but as he stretched his legs and took in the unexpectedly quaint Missouri town, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to chastise Finn’s navigational skills. The fire station was actually a local café that served him a delicious spinach salad with sliced oranges and toasted pecans. It felt almost virtuous after the junk food he’d eaten so far.

The town was compact; Finn browsed the sports memorabilia in the antiques shops while Kurt found some gorgeous Art Deco wall lamps which would save him even more floor space in his tiny apartment.

 _His_ apartment, Kurt reminded himself, with a defiant nod.

It might not be the airy mountain home that Finn would be sharing with Rachel in California, but he wasn’t giving it up without a fight.

\--

They had just enough time to explore the winery, which closed at 7 p.m. There was something to be said about New York being the city that never slept, as Kurt often ate his lunch at 7 p.m. if he was caught up in writing. The owner didn’t rush them, though, and Kurt wished he’d perhaps chosen to spend a night in the adjacent B&B rather than face the bustle and blues of Memphis. There was no need to rush, and Finn drove them out through Route 32. The scenery was flat, and they passed small towns like Farmington with even smaller trailer homes and signs advertising farm-fresh eggs and organic honey.

After insisting they pull over so Finn could take photographs of a town named ‘Knob Lick’ (for Puck’s benefit, apparently), Finn took the wheel without being asked and was quiet while Kurt just watched the calming but somewhat static scenery. He remembered drifting off just outside Poplar Bluff, and waking up in Gilmore, Arkansas.

“It’s cool if you want to keep dozing.”

Kurt yawned, as if on cue. “Sorry. I’ve found it hard to sleep these past few nights.”

“Yeah, I hear reading crap on your Kindle at 3 a.m. does that to a person.” Finn reached for the drink in his cup holder. “It’s your vacation. Read whatever the hell you want, as late as you want. Having you _here_ is enough, and besides. With all the talking Rachel’s been doing this past week, it’s been nice to be able to think.”

“You? Think?”

“More than you’d realize,” Finn said, his eyes not meeting Kurt’s. Then, almost as though someone had flicked a switch in his head, he grinned and reached for the volume knob. “Hey, I love this song!”

Kurt scrunched his nose a little; the chords were familiar, but the version wasn’t. “That’s ‘Walking in Memphis’, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, the original, by Marc Cohn.” Finn tapped his hand against the wheel as the lyrics started. “Sing it with me?”

Kurt turned up the volume as loud as it could go, and swore that Finn accelerated the truck a little, his tapping against the wheel becoming more fervent. The deep, soulful song was definitely in Finn’s wheelhouse. Kurt joined in on the chorus, struggling to fit the song to his own timbre, but by the second chorus, he was struck by how good they sounded. How _right_. The gentle heat in his chest spread to the tips of his fingers, and he clenched his fingertips into the edge of his car seat.

All too soon, the song ended, replaced by something Kurt thought might have been Billy Joel or Tom Petty; he wasn’t exactly a soft rock connoisseur. Finn, though, continued to sing. Kurt watched him surreptitiously as he inclined his seat and let the late evening sun filter through the windshield and warm his face. Were these the sort of songs Finn would have sung as a kid, while Kurt was living only a few blocks over and begging his dad to let him continue his ballet classes?

“Did these guys have a drummer?” Kurt said, watching Finn continue to tap his hands along to the music. “Someone you wanted to be when you were a kid?”

“Some session musician, probably,” Finn said. “If we’re talking drummers? John Bonham. The guy from Led Zep. The dexterity he had on ‘Fool in the Rain’ was just…” Finn laughed a little. “I never wanted to be a drummer.”

“Don’t tell me you wanted to be a _jockey_.”

“Nah. I never wanted to be Ginger Baker, sat behind a drum kit. I wanted to be Eric Clapton. The leading man. Mom only got me playing drums ‘cause I was this clumsy, loud, goofball of a kid who wouldn’t give her a moment’s peace. ‘Course, giving a clumsy, loud, goofball of a kid a _stick_ just made it all worse.”

“You could have done something with it,” Kurt waited, Finn’s face reflecting the nostalgia. “Why didn’t you take guitar lessons? I’m sure I remembered you playing, once, when we did Fleetwood Mac week.”

“I was faking it. I can play, like, one song. ‘Elevation’ by U2, because it only has two chords. Guess my hands are just too big.”

Kurt reached for his drink. It was still cold, and he told himself the chill in his stomach was from that, and not from thinking about Finn’s _hands_ , which never led him to good places. “Do you miss performing?”

Finn nodded. “I’m glad you don’t _have_ to.”

“I miss _singing_ ,” Kurt said, quietly. “I've been lucky as a working actor and playwright, but I got sick of being told I wasn't what they were looking for at Broadway auditions. The only time I really sing in public is when Santana’s bar puts on karaoke. You know, for two people who really couldn’t be more different, we have a lot in common.”

“You’re saying we’re different from each other? Or from everyone else?”

“Both, I think.” Kurt set down his drink and placed his hands in his lap. “We’re nearly in Memphis, aren’t we?”

Finn put the blinkers on and soon turned left, as they hit Sam Cooper Boulevard.  It was a beautiful evening, the sky a deep blue with the clouds on the horizon the color of fresh cream. The pair were quiet, taking in the scenery and listening to some local radio until they reached the western terminus of the road, by Overton Park. The tree-lined avenues and emerald green foliage were nothing like Kurt had expected. Before long, Finn had safely managed to handle the rush of cross-town traffic and navigate them towards the downtown area.

“You said you got us a hotel?” Finn said.

“Yes, it’s right by Beale Street. I promise you, you can’t miss it.”

“Motel 6? I didn’t know they had those downtown.” Finn laughed, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Or did you go a little crazy and splurge on a Comfort Inn.”

“How _dare_ you.” Kurt poked Finn in the bicep, hard. “We have two nights at the Peabody.”

“The one with the marching ducks?”

“Yes, Finn. The one with the marching ducks.”

Kurt shifted his eyes a little to the right and took in Finn’s adorable expression. Trust him to book them into a historical four star hotel after two nights of lumpy mattresses and inadequate air conditioning and have Finn focus on the damned Peabody ducks. If Kurt was honest, though, he wouldn’t have expected anything less.

\--

“Kurt, this is too much,” Finn said, after they’d checked in and were making their way up to their room in the elevator. “It doesn’t seem right, staying in a place like this. It doesn’t seem _me_. I mean, I still think a Marriott is classy.”

The elevator doors pinged open, and Kurt walked along the plush carpet. “We’ve spent the past two nights in cheap motel hell, and this place wasn’t actually that much more. We’ll save on transport as it’s close to downtown, and I even got us a complimentary bottle of Jack. It’s not to _my_ taste, but I hear that when in Memphis, one should drink like Memphis, and –“ Kurt placed his keycard in the door and opened it with anticipation. “Crap,” he said, taking in the room.

“You don’t like it?”

Kurt took in the Tiffany-blue walls and sparkling chandelier above the bed. The room was as opulent as he’d expected, spotless if not hugely spacious. It was also a room for _one_. “There’s only one bed,” Kurt said, knowing Finn must have noticed.

“For two people? Staying in a hotel?” Finn smirked, a little dangerously. “How _weird_.”

“Shut up.” Kurt jabbed Finn in the chest. “I specifically booked the Deluxe Double offer.” He set his bag down, and reached into the front pocket for his tablet, showing Finn the booking confirmation. “See? One Deluxe Double. Two adults, and _two_ beds.”

“Nah.” Finn scanned the booking, his face a little eerie in the blue light. “I’m pretty sure that says one Deluxe _King_ with two adults and _one_ bed.”

“Great. I’m going back to the front desk.”

“This bed’s huge, and it’s only two nights. I can deal, if you can?”

“I can’t. I’ll tell them we’re brothers.”

Finn glowered. He snatched the key card from Kurt’s hand with a little too much force. “Yeah. _Brothers_. Why don’t we just seal the deal and get separate rooms?”

“What’s gotten into _you_?”

“What do you mean?” Finn said, sitting down on their one king bed. It appeared to mold to his form like one very good _quality_ bed and Kurt swore his aching back was soothed just by looking. “We always used to share a bed, back in high school. Hell, even in college!”

“I’m not some impoverished college kid,” Kurt huffed. “There’s no need to save money.”

“Fine.” Finn sprung up. “Maybe we _should_ have separate rooms. _I’ll_ sort it, because god knows, you’re not exactly screaming congeniality right now which is pretty damn rich considering what happened the last time we shared a bed!”

\--

As soon as Finn’s loud footsteps weren’t audible, Kurt flopped down on the bed. It was delicious, like cherubs were caressing his tired, aching muscles. He stared up at the chandelier and tried not to think about the last time he’d shared a bed with Finn. He thanked Finn for not mentioning Nettle Lake by name, because Kurt sure as hell wasn’t going to mention it himself.

Nettle Lake was the largest natural lake in Ohio; vast and gray as the late summer clouds in the sky. Finn and Burt had spent their last night _bonding_ , which entailed fishing; Finn was covered in mud as he ran towards Kurt with pride, showing off the huge channel catfish he’d caught. When Burt clapped him on the shoulder and told him to _gut_ said catfish, Finn paled and let Kurt do the honors. No sooner was the unfortunate fish on the grill, Kurt felt a raindrop land on his forehead. 

“Thank you for your sacrifice, Nev,” Finn said, as he poked the fish with his spatula.

“Nev? You gave your fish a _name_?”

“Yeah, after that Catfish show you like.” Then, Finn looked up, flicking the rain from his waterproof. “Uh, Kurt? I think there’s a storm coming.”

Kurt laughed, and then his eyes bugged open as the rain pounded down, extinguishing the grill. Finn took his hand and they dashed for cover in Finn’s tent. As the rain pounded against the sides, they ate some Doritos and played cards for a while. The storm didn’t let up, and they settled down to sleep in their separate sleeping bags, on opposite sides of the same air mattress. Kurt had found it hysterical that Finn had specially ordered an oversized dark brown quilted bag to fit his oversized body; as he shivered in his cheap Walmart bedding, he didn’t find it hysterical at all.

“C’mon, get in here,” Finn said, unzipping his sleeping back. “You’re shivering.”

“Am _not_ ,” Kurt said, his words shaking through his chattered teeth.

Finn laughed. “Are too. There’s plenty of room.”

Reluctantly, Kurt slid in. It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed; that honor went to a family movie night when Finn had spilled a bottle of Mountain Dew over Kurt’s sheets and the spare bedding was in the laundry. They’d slept on separate sides of the bed, turned away from each other, facing the wall. This time, though, Finn tugged Kurt against his chest, sheltering him from the storm that raged against the tarpaulin. Finn’s bare legs tangled with his, and Kurt had slept soundly until the early hours of the morning when he’d woken up to bright blue skies that beamed at him through the skylight of the tent.

Finn’s fingers played softly at the taper of Kurt’s waist, making his eyes fly open. “Hey, Kurt,” he said, pulling their bodies a little closer together still. “You ready to get up, or…”

“I’m not _Rachel_ ,” Kurt muttered. He tugged at the edge of the sleeping bag which somehow only pulled them closer, and he was unable to help the low groan he made when he felt hardness against the small of his back. Inadvertently, he rolled his hips and then took every ounce of willpower in the world to still his body when Finn groaned, low enough to brush against the hairs on the back of his neck.

Finn was silent for a long time. “I know you’re not,” he said, voice thick and dark with sleep.

“And _you_ are not _Blaine_.” Kurt stared at his wedding band and enunciated each word, pulling himself free of Finn’s grip. “I’m going to shower.”

“Sorry, dude.” Finn’s palm lingered on Kurt’s back a little before he turned on his side. “Force of habit.”

That morning, Kurt spent his shower suffering a mixture of want, frustration, and curiosity.  His marriage was a little unhappy, but that was normal when you were just starting out, wasn’t it? He focused his eyes on the platinum band on his finger as he touched himself slowly under the lukewarm water, telling himself over and over again that it was _Blaine_ he was thinking of. Burt drove them back in silence, Finn riding shotgun and Kurt in the back seat trying to drown out Carole’s attempts at conversation. They didn’t talk about it again during the remainder of their summer, and definitely didn’t talk about it after Finn went out to L.A.

\--

Kurt sighed to himself as he waited for Finn to return. He could still smell the freshly turned-over dirt; hear the annoying clunking of the chipmunks, and the soft snores Finn had made that lulled him to sleep. He was face-down in the pillow, trying very much not to think at all, when he heard the door open.

“Sorry,” Finn mumbled. “They don’t have any other rooms. There’s this big convention. The American Academy of Allergy, Asthma, and Immunology.”

Kurt rolled over, noting Finn held a bottle of bourbon in his hand. “Impressive.”

“The convention?”

“The tongue twister.”

“Yeah, I took the stairs so I could practice that.” Finn paused, sitting down on the wing chair next to the bureau. “Look. If it’s that much of a hardship, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“It’s fine. _I’ll_ take the couch,” Kurt said, looking at the furniture that was about half the size of his body and perhaps a third the size of Finn’s. The blue brocade looked as though it might bite his skin while he slept. “Nice hooch you got there. Got any more freebies, Mr. Congeniality?”

“No, but they have a rooftop party this evening, with a buffet. We don’t even have to pay for dinner!”

“Free food,” Kurt rolled his eyes a little. “You can take the boy out of Lima...”

\--

In all honesty, Kurt was intrigued by the rooftop party. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have them in New York, but Memphis held an entirely different atmosphere. They took turns in the shower, then sat together on the wing chairs to drink bourbon from the opulent crystal glasses. Kurt felt suave, a little like Humphrey Bogart. (Albeit Humphrey Bogart wearing pants with seahorses on them.) He smiled at Finn who had already finished his drink; he looked casual but classy in Bermuda shorts and a dark blue linen shirt.

“Want another?” Finn said, clinking their glasses.

“Those are fine _crystal_ , you oaf.” Kurt finished his drink and gently set it down. “I’m aiming for temperance tonight, and besides, you’re supposed to _sip_ bourbon. Not drink it like a boilermaker without the beer.”

“Temperance is a virtue, and you’re always too virtuous.” Finn refilled both their glasses. “Let loose a little!” 

\--

Kurt strutted his way to the elevator and across the roof. A poster immediately greeted him, proclaiming it as ‘The Best Pick-Up Spot in Memphis’. Kurt didn’t really have his eye on romance; he only felt like picking up a mint julep which seemed a perfectly acceptable drink considering the number of guys in sports jerseys who were downing them.

“This is so _cool_ ,” Finn said.

Kurt spit-licked his finger and wiped a spot of bourbon from Finn’s cheek. “It has its merits,” he admitted.

“What d’you think they do if it rains?”

“Given how intoxicated the patrons are? Probably send a thank you to the rain gods for sobering them up,” Kurt said, watching a woman in hotpants and a tube top do an imaginary limbo while holding a margarita glass in her hand.

The pair lost each other at the food serving area. Kurt tucked into the buffet while he scanned the rooftop for Finn. Despite his height, it was difficult to spot him in the throng. When Kurt _did_ , he groaned audibly. There Kurt was, resolving not to have his eye on romance, and Finn was dancing – or at least what passed for dancing – with a female companion to the dulcet tones of the cover band’s version of Nelly’s ‘Hot in Herre’. It was clear he wasn’t hung up on Rachel when he let his intended put her hands on his hips. The girl was tall, with cinnamon-brown hair that reached the swell of her ass, and wore denim shorts the width of a belt.

 _So much for solidarity_ , Kurt thought.

He got himself a drink and then walked right over to the edge of the roof, standing under the famous neon hotel sign. The skyline wasn’t as impressive as New York’s, but he let it calm him as he glanced across to the Mississippi River. It was a close, humid night, but Kurt shivered. He remembered the last time he was at a party like this in Manhattan. He’d have Blaine clinging to his arm, and a glass of champagne clutched in his hand.

Kurt had always _tried_ to be as socially promiscuous as Blaine, but he genuinely didn’t enjoy mingling. One of the things he liked most about acting was being able to be in the spotlight when _he_ wanted.

 _Don’t think about it_ , Kurt told himself

He wasn’t sure whether he was more upset about the way things had soured with Blaine, or the fact his step-brother was grinding with a random girl. Kurt finished his drink, ordered another from the bar, and walked over to a crowd of women dancing erratically. Before long, he was surrounded by a whooping, clapping crowd of woman in their twenties and teaching what felt like half of Memphis the ‘Single Ladies’ dance.

\--

It was almost eleven when Kurt looked at his phone to see several messages from Finn.

 _Who are you, my dad?_ Kurt texted. _I’m on the roof. As one tends to be during a roof party._

Kurt downed the rest of his drink, and his heart clenched a little; why had Finn gone back to his room so swiftly? Had he caught on to Kurt’s thoughts from earlier and tried to keep his distance? The hotel room seemed far too small for Kurt’s comfort; he stumbled to the elevator, holding the rails tightly, and then remembered how Finn hadn’t even been there ten minutes before he’d danced butt cheek to butt cheek with that girl.

And why shouldn't he? Finn was hot, single and charming. He also wasn’t a _monk_.

When Kurt pulled his key card from his pants pocket, the door took a long time to bleep; clearly, it was faulty. The moment he opened the door, strong arms gripped him around the waist as he tripped on the threshold. The beige and brown pattern of the carpet was making him a little dizzy.

“Jesus, Kurt.” Finn’s voice was terse. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon. How much did you _have_?”

Kurt blinked up at him. The loud covers band had caused his ears to feel a little numb, but he was able to detect soft music playing in the background.

_And babe, don’t you know it’s a pity_  
_That the days can’t be like the night  
_ _In the summer, in the city_

The song was sensual. A little _too_ sensual. Kurt wished he didn’t know about his step-brother’s proclivity for playing music during… intimate times, and when he realized that Finn was only wearing an undershirt and his boxers, he was prepared to make a swift exit.

“I didn’t realize you were _busy_ ,” Kurt said, a little harsher than intended. “I can find an after party if you want to –“

“Huh?”

“Your lady friend. From earlier.” Kurt hiccupped. He hiccupped again, his chest stinging a little, and it seemed so funny he wanted to choke on his own laughter. “Did you see me dancing, earlier?” Kurt sung quietly, waving his hand under Finn’s nose. “ _All the single ladies! All the single ladies! All the --”_

“So not what I planned,” Finn muttered. He paced the room a few times before he walked over to the bureau and picked up a bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, he passed it to Kurt. “There _is_ no lady friend. You need to drink this, and go lay down.”

Kurt took a large sip, some of the cool liquid dripping down his chin and onto his shirt. “Whatever, Mister Bossypants.”

“Stop shimmying,” Finn said, his arms folded across his chest. “You’re gonna face-plant on the rug or something’.”

Sighing, Kurt flopped back on the bed. “I didn’t like it. I _hated_ it.” He waved his hand in front of his face, his finger still feeling a little too empty with the slightly-too-tight platinum wedding band not there. “And yet, I still let him put a ring on it. _Woah oh oh, oh oh oh…”_

“I said _let loose_. Not _alcohol poisoning_ ,” Finn said, turning down the music as Elvis sang about getting his ‘lovin’’ in the evening time.

Kurt laughed until his throat hurt. “This is _definitely_ your _boom chicka wow wow_ playlist. What’s next, ‘I’m on Fire’ by Bruce Springsteen?”

The scowl Finn gave him indicated the answer was probably a yes. Finn cut the music then grabbed a can of pop and pressed it against his forehead for a few moments before drinking. He sat down on the edge of the bed. “There wasn’t a girl, I swear,” he said. “I spent most of the night trying to look for _you_ , and came back around ten. Thought I’d chill out to some summer music and read my book.”

“You? Read a book?” Kurt wiggled in the bed a little, until he was closer. “You are one eclectic man, Finn Hudson.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Kurt nodded. They were too close; close enough that Kurt could see Finn’s cheeks which were flushed pink. He wasn’t entirely sure _how_ that was possible considering they’d only been outdoors for an hour or two that day, and they’d slathered themselves in enough SPF to cover a Little League team.

Finn’s eyes fell closed, and he flopped back against the pillows. “Why’d you turn away?” he said, quietly. “Worried you’re gonna puke on me?”

“Maybe.” Kurt watched Finn open his eyes, one elbow beind his head to prop it up. “Or maybe I’ll do something else?”

“Yeah.” Finn’s smile started to spread, but retreated, unsure, as he turned on his back. “You’re like, one second away from passing out, Sleeping Beauty. And there’s only one way to wake _her_ up.”

“Carole isn’t evil,” Kurt said. “And my dad might be a Congressman, but he’s not the king. It would be a very contemporary adaptation.”

“Mm hm.”

Kurt licked his lips, feeling the cool air from the very efficient air conditioning make them tingle. “Would you wake me up with a kiss, Finn? If… if he was?”

“You are _so drunk_.” Finn’s hand was warm, gently reaching out to rest on his shoulder. He moved forward a little, his breath brushing the side of Kurt’s face. “You need to drink that water. _All_ of it. Get some sleep, before you say something you’ll regret.”

“Fine.” Kurt huffed, rolling away. The gap between their bodies widened, and he felt a little empty, lacking the warmth he’d felt from Finn only moments before. “You were the one who mentioned _kissing_. Now, and back when we were in the Caverns. Clearly there’s _some_ girl on your mind.”

“I…” Finn started, then coughed, clearing his throat. “There’s no girl on my mind. There… hasn’t been one. Not in a long time.”

“So find one. You only have to blink for their panties to drop.”

Finn’s voice turned lower. “And why would I do a silly thing like that? I _have_ the only company I want, right here. This vacation’s not about a hook-up. It’s about _us_.”

Kurt reached over for his water, and took a large sip. His eyes were making the patterns in the wallpaper blur unappealingly, and the scenery was beginning to turn counterclockwise. He hoped that he was sober enough not to bump into the furniture when he needed to pee. All of a sudden, he felt lonely; he took a deep breath and shifted his body back just like he had all those years ago at Nettle Lake. He waited, and wanted, for Finn to tug him close and tell him it was okay.

That didn’t happen, though; Finn had pulled the blanket right up to the top of his chest and was holding on to it for dear life. Thank goodness Kurt hadn’t made a move and mistaken Finn’s caring nature for something more; he was just being friendly. _Brotherly_. Trying to silence that nagging voice that urged him to reconsider, Kurt took off his shirt and slept on top of the covers in his undershirt and pants.

\--

Kurt woke up alone the following morning. He was still on top of the covers, and wrinkled his nose when he noticed he was wearing the same clothes he had on the previous night. Immediately, he showered, scrubbing himself under steaming water and dressing casually. Finn had left him a note stating he’d gone to catch the 11 a.m. duck walk from the hotel lobby, and that Kurt had looked so adorable that Finn hadn’t wanted to wake him up. 

He clutched the note to his chest, sighing a little. Finn certainly had a way with words, even if he could barely write them.

After a short (and sweaty) walk downtown, Kurt met with Finn at the lunch spot he’d suggested. The venue had a hand-carved bar and quirky décor including a moose head wearing sunglasses, and red vinyl bar stools. He ate his grilled cheese while watching Finn dig into his French toast Monte Cristo; Finn ordered a peanut butter and banana martini dubbed ‘The Elvis’ but pushed it aside after one sip to continue to drink his coke.

Kurt grabbed himself an iced latte as they walked around Beale Street, the two mile stretch feeling like a marathon in the sticky Tennessee heat.

\--

At around four, they’d both had enough. Finn walked like a man trapped in quicksand as they went back to the hotel and grabbed a quick shower each before sitting down in the lobby for afternoon tea. It was refined, and strangely genteel; at least, until Finn crammed an entire finger sandwich in his mouth and proclaimed he’d _give the waiter the finger_ if he didn’t get real food. Kurt took in the people around him as he sipped on his Darjeeling tea and waved away the complimentary glass of champagne he was offered.

“Apricot scores and _Irish_ butter?” Kurt huffed a little as they left the table and got into position to watch the ducks. “The last time I was in London, I took tea at Claridge’s. The jam was infused with Calabrian bergamot, and the vanilla pods came from –“

Finn brushed a handful of crumbs from his shirt. “Do you even hear yourself speak, sometimes?”

“Do _you_?” Kurt countered.

“I’ve never been to England. Never really _wanted_ to, but I bet they don’t do burgers, booze and blues like this place.” Without pausing, Finn placed the small cake he’d liberated from the spread into his mouth, swallowing it down in one big gulp. “Can you tell me what’s so funny about that butter shaped like a duck? I uploaded that picture to Facebook, and Puck made this comment about me eating your duck butter. I don’t get it.”

Kurt sputtered a little as they continued to walk up to the mezzanine. It was thanks to Puck himself that Kurt had expanded his lexicon of disgusting terms. “You really don’t want to know.”

Finn, hands now free of patisserie, pointed towards the lobby like he was a kindergartener with free rein at the activity table. The lobby was stunning; the octagonal fountain was made from polished marble, and it was furnished with a garland of bright, plush flowers. In the fountain splashed five ducks. (Or, if Kurt wanted to be pedantic, four ducks and one drake.) He zoned out thinking about how he’d handle that night’s sleeping arrangements while the tour guide droned on about the majesty of the rooftop, and what a perfect wedding venue the place was, and how every president since Truman had stayed in the Presidential Suite.

“Is he on Vitamin D or something?” Kurt waved his hand around. “It’s just a bunch of ducks. Their only good use is being roasted and smothered in sauce l’orange.”

“That’s Kevin. He’s the Duckmaster.”

Kurt peered ahead, expecting a middle-aged man who looked a little like Tim Allen. Instead, his quip about _Home Improvement_ dried in his throat. Kevin’s teeth sparkled, and his dark brown hair barely contrasted with his dark brown skin. He didn’t look long out of college, and Kurt adjusted his collar a little when he saw how well Kevin filled out the red blazer he wore. Looking down, he saw the faintest hint of a rainbow-colored sock between the hem of Kevin’s pressed pant leg and his shiny shoes.

“Oh my.” Kurt undid his top button. “He can ruffle my feathers any time.”

“You’re hot for _him_?” Finn scowled a little. “He’s not your type!”

“He’s like a young Taye Diggs,” Kurt sighed, and continued to look at Kevin’s butt which was far more interesting than listening to Kevin talk about the memorabilia room that helped keep the duck walk in business. “This is even tackier than I’d anticipated.”

“I know, right? It’s so cool.”

Kurt watched Kevin tap his black cane on the side of the fountain. A jaunty instrumental started up as the ducks clumsily waddled out of the fountain and down the red-carpeted path, towards the awaiting elevator. Reaching for his wallet, Kurt shot Kevin a wink. He was getting _definite_ vibes, and while he wouldn’t normally be so forward, setting his sights on a boy who was actually receptive to his gender was no bad idea. He extracted one of his business cards and Finn plucked it from his fingertips with a scowl.

Unfortunately for Finn, Kevin took it from Finn’s grip and shot Kurt a smile that melted him into a puddle as his ducks (and one drake) waddled into the elevator.

\--

It might have been the humidity, or it might have been the fact he’d taken most of the driving so far, but Finn wasn’t his sunny self that evening. He watched a re-run of some sports game, stating he’d just order room service. Kurt had never tolerated Finn sulking like he was five and someone had stolen his toy truck in high school, and he wasn’t about to start now. He told Finn that he could either meet him for a coffee at the hotel bar at seven, or make his own arrangements for dinner.

“Where are we going?” Finn said, one minute before seven. He was wearing dad jeans and a t-shirt with a hole in the hem. “Nowhere fancy, I hope.”

“ _Kevin_ is taking us to a bar. They do live blues on a Friday night, and I don’t even _like_ that sort of music, so behave.”

“Yeah. It’s not the _music_ you’re after.” Finn still seemed frosty, snapping at the end of each word. “Why’re you inviting me as a third wheel?”

“Because he might be nothing more than a pretty face who talks about ducks all evening?”

\--

Ironically, Kurt found that _he_ was fast becoming the third wheel. He sat there, sipping on his water, while Kevin and Finn drank their beer. Kevin looked even _more_ adorable out of his Duckmaster’s uniform; he wore a plain black shirt that showed of his tattooed biceps, and a pair of battered chucks. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was the fact that he was hanging on _Finn’s_ every word as they chatted about the history of Delta blues, speaking of singers with names like Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf.

“Yeah, yeah.” Finn drained his beer and summoned the waiter for another. “Music today lacks _heart_ , know what I’m saying?”

“For sure,” Kevin said, his food untouched as he chatted away. “I bet you see some great concerts out in L.A.”

“Yeah, I try. I mean, Rachel likes to go to STAPLES Center for the big names, but I prefer smaller venues, like The Roxy. It’s not worth it if you’re sitting down and your ears don’t sting, you know?”

Kevin looked to Kurt, one eyebrow raised. “Rachel?”

“My roomie.” Finn took a bite of his pork shoulder. “Well. She _was_ my roomie. I’m with Kurt right now.”

“You two are together?”

Kurt took a sip of his water, wishing for something stronger. “No. Oh no. Finn’s just my _brother_ ,” he said, spitting out the word.

Finn, still occupied with his mouthful of pork, didn’t even swallow. His cheeks turned pink before his eyes watered, and he spat his food into his napkin. Kurt tutted, though he was secretly pleased that the less than suave parts of Finn still remained despite the cool rock kid image he was trying to show off to Kevin. Kurt continued to take small bites of his catfish, not really enjoying the flavor as Finn talked about their next day on the road, scowling a little as he mentioned they were going to Oklahoma.

“Have _you_ ever been there?” Kurt said to Kevin, determined to join in the conversation. “Oklahoma,” he said. “Even the word sounds like its lacking in promise.”

“Can’t say I have. You guys don’t fancy visiting Nashville?”

Finn sighed. “We’re on a tight schedule. Can you talk him into spending another day here? I was hoping to see those awesome ducks of yours one last time.”

“Why don’t you grab a drink with me at The Pumping Station? It’s nothing _like_ the bars you must have out in L.A., but it’s… it’s a _something_ , alright.”

“Cool.” Finn snatched Kurt’s napkin and wiped at his mouth. “I’m always up for a something.”

“Great!” Kevin set down his cutlery. “They have a beer bust ‘til one, in aid of the Handballers.”

Kurt sprayed the remains of his catfish with water. _Good_. At least he had an excuse for not eating the stuff now. “The… _what_?”

“Our all-gay softball team.”

“Oh.” Finn looked between the two, a little haplessly, realization setting in. “ _Oh_. Well, I _do_ like sports, but I think that might be more _Kurt’s_ thing.” Out of the corner of his eye, he shot Kurt a wink. “Right, little brother?”

“No worries. We could always go someplace quieter.”

“Kevin.” Kurt cleared his throat. “Finn’s not interested in guys,” he said, because while Kevin clearly wasn’t interested in _him_ , he was an amiable enough guy for Kurt to want to put him out of his misery.”

“I thought…” Kevin paused, and finished his beer. “It’s cool. I thought you were his wingman, but… it’s been fun hanging out this evening. I’m still up for a drink.”

Finn flagged down the waiter. “I’m cool with that.”

“You don’t _look_ alike,” Kevin said. “Are you really brothers?”

“Step-brothers. Kurt’s dad married my mom when we were teenagers.”

“Thank _god_ ,” Kevin admitted. “I was starting to get a little weirded out.”

“What do you mean, _weirded out_?” Kurt protested.

“Well, you two finished each other’s sentences, and fed each other bites of your appetizers, and you’re sort of holding hands with each other right now. It’s…” Kevin reached for the napkin, folding it nervously in his hands. “It’s cool. I’ve got two sisters, but they live back in Arlington with my mom. I guess I don’t know what it’s like to have a brother.”

Kurt laughed. He admitted his relationship with Finn probably _did_ look a little odd to an outsider, and he continued to chat away as the waiter brought the check and a complimentary shot of bourbon for each of them which Kurt instantly pushed in Kevin’s direction.

\--

The three had a few drinks (non-alcoholic, on Kurt’s part) before Kurt and Finn returned to the hotel. The buzz of the city only intensified as the evening drew on, and while Kurt would normally roll his eyes at public displays of debauchery, the laughing, whooping crowd sent a thrill through his veins.

“I had so much fun today,” Finn said, as he slid into bed. He reached above him to dim the lights. “Today was awesome.”

“Eventually,” Kurt said, continuing to rub his night cream into his face. “I admit I was dubious, but Memphis is a great little city.”

“Yeah, Kevin just sent me a message on Facebook. He told me we’re welcome to come back and visit whenever.”

Kurt smirked. He was over the initial indignation. “I still can’t get over the fact you gave my business card to a cute guy who thought we were an item, then hit on _you_ when he realized we’re _not_. God, I hope he wasn’t angling for a threesome.”

“I’m happy being a twosome,” Finn said. He yawned, biceps flexing as he folded his arms behind his head. “You should sleep here tonight. I fluffed your pillows and everything.”

“You have to admit, Kevin had a point about being weirded out. We can be a little... domestic.”

“What? I just know you like your pillows higher up on the bed than me,” Finn insisted. “That’s, like, best friend information. You probably know the exact thread count on Rachel’s sheets.”

Kurt did, probably because he’d spent more time on the free shuttle bus to the Brooklyn IKEA than he had on the subway. He brushed his teeth, the fizz of the club soda he’d been drinking soon replaced by the efficient freshness of spearmint. He spat the frothy substance into the sink, and his mind wandered to the first time he’d shared a bed with Finn. He remembered that Finn had actually put pillows down the middle of the bed, and locked the bathroom door when he was getting changed. He’d worn a long-sleeved hoodie and loose pajama pants and didn’t look Kurt in the eye. 

This time, Finn was shirtless, the sheets pooling in his lap. “I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward last night.”

“You didn’t.” Kurt got into bed. Now, it was _him_ in the long sleeves and the layers. “I don’t even _remember_ going to bed,” he admitted.

“You didn’t miss much,” Finn said. “Other than the fact it’s been nearly ten years, and I _still_ can’t do that Single Ladies dance with you.”

Kurt chuckled, turning off the light on his side of the bed. “Goodnight, Finn,” he said, shifting his head and noticing that the pillows were indeed aligned perfectly. He closed his eyes, stomach full and head a little heavy with thoughts he really hoped a good night’s sleep would erase.


	5. Chapter 5

They woke up early the following morning, checking out after the sun had barely risen over the city. It was a Saturday, and Kurt supposed there’d be a lot of weekend warriors looking to escape Oklahoma. His plan was to take I-55 North, then US-63 to Springfield, Missouri. Spend a boring night in Tulsa, and then explore the back roads around Route 66 the following day. Kurt had read up on the route; he was looking forward to hitting the Coleman Theatre in Miami, Oklahoma, and grabbing lunch in the sort of dive that sold twice-cooked fries held in a net of greasy, melted cheese.

Sometimes, just _sometimes_ , he really was his father’s son.

“Check out that pyramid,” Finn said, whistling through his teeth as they took in the view that was nowhere near as wonderful as the one they’d seen when they’d entered Memphis. 

“Oh my. That Bass Pro sign at the base of it is the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Kurt fiddled with the packet of gum he was holding. “And believe me, I’ve seen a lot of tacky things this past week.”

“It’s not so bad. Is it?” Finn chuckled as they drove a little closer. “Well, crap. Did they _really_ have to stick an American flag in the top?”

“I know, right!” Kurt unwrapped a stick of gum, and popped it in his mouth. “It’s the tacky cherry on a sundae of tack. And yet compared to the Meramec Caverns…”

“It’s classy as James Bond.”

“The Scissor Sisters could be riding Elton John along the Castro District during San Francisco Pride and whipping him with a rainbow bootlace. _That_ would be a less tacky spectacle than those Caverns.”

“The only thing tackier than those caves is Blaine’s hair.” Finn looked at Kurt, slightly smug.

Kurt returned his smile. “Oh my god. You’re starting to sound like _me_.”

“I know, right?” Finn’s grin split his face from ear to ear. “Isn’t it awesome?”

\--

They made a brief stop in Dyess, Arkansas.  Finn wanted to see Johnny Cash’s childhood home which was a ramshackle five-room house with faded white walls. They drove the short distance to Lepanto for breakfast; Wikipedia told Kurt it was the setting for a John Grisham novel and had produced the first winner of the reality TV talent show Nashville Star. Kurt relayed the story to Finn of how he’d come home after an audition to find Sam drunkenly watching reruns in nothing but a cowboy hat and singing Toby Keith.

The place was quaint. Brick-fronted buildings clustered together, and the sidewalk inexplicably had a stuffed deer on wheels advertising a local business. It was like every single 1950s book on the South, and Kurt realized that life today still wasn’t that different. The people he passed were little more than a high speed internet connection and a Netflix account away from their grandparents who’d worked the fields.

 _Finn and I come from Lima_ , Kurt thought, the nostalgia hitting him for all the wrong reasons. _We’re only a bit of hard work and some sheer luck away from working in a tire shop or an insurance office_.

“Let’s drive on,” Finn said, looking a little uneasy himself.

\--

“You ever read any Grisham?” Finn didn’t wait for a response. “He’s supposed to write about doing the right thing, and life not being fair, and stuff. I had this assignment in college to plan a lesson on life in the 1950s, and the librarian recommended me A Painted House. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t _awful_ , I guess.”

“Wow. New York Film Critics Circle. Snap _him_ up.”

“Do you ever quit going on about how stupid I am?” Finn sighed. “Of course you don’t. Maybe it’s because I _am_ stupid.”

“Finn, wait. I didn’t mean –“ Kurt slumped back in his seat, watching the poorly-painted houses and yellowing fields pass him by with increased speed. “I don’t think you’re stupid. The only thing that’s ever held you back from doing _anything_ is the fact you fear you’ll _look_ stupid.”

“Whatever.”

“I spent five years of my life being married to someone that filled me with mild irritation on a _good_ day,” Kurt pointed out. “I think I’m the stupid one in this truck.”

“Yeah? Well I moved two thousand miles from home, fully knowing I wanted _out_.”

“You’re smart, Finn. _People_ smart, and when people tell you that, it’s not a covert way of telling you you’re dumber than rocks. You just need a little confidence.”

“Says the man who’s never been lacking in _that_ attribute.”

“It’s a façade. A front.”

“Who cares? It has me fooled half the time,” Finn said, tapping his hands like he didn’t quite know what to do with them now the road had straightened out. “How do you even _do_ that?”

Kurt smiled. “I’ll tell you the one piece of decent advice that Cooper Anderson gave me: fake it until you make it.”

“Cooper? Whatever did happen to him.”

“He’s retired, now. His acting career reached its premature conclusion when he was auditioning as an extra for the new Marvel movie, and poked Louis D'Esposito in the eye.”

“Our lives could be worse,” Finn said, before he laughed so hard that he bit down on his lip. “250 CCs of emotive pointing, stat!”

Kurt did a ‘Greased Lightning’ move and tucked his hair behind his ear. “Finally. My rival vanquished, I can do my PhD in wild gesticulation.”

“Better get in there quick before Rachel takes over _that_ niche.” 

\--

The back roads meandered more than they both anticipated, and they ended up driving past the historic district of East Galena wishing they had a little more time to stop in Kansas’ oldest town. By the time they’d reached the Coleman Theatre, it was far too late for the tours, and they weren’t running until Monday. Kurt’s pout only intensified when Finn told them they had just enough time to explore the Totem Pole Park in Foyil, Oklahoma. The cotton wool clouds and rolling hills did little to pacify Kurt, though he did enjoy the fact the air was a little cooler than it had been in Arkansas when they got out to stretch their legs.

They reached Tulsa at around seven, exhausted and famished.

“It’s gonna rain tomorrow,” Finn said. The temperature gauge, unreliable at the best of the times, stated it was in the mid-60s. The air was cloying, with barely a hint of a breeze. “Oklahoma sucks. Why are we even here?”

“Because you hate flying?”

“I _love_ flying. So long as I get a seat in the exit row.”  Finn cursed under his breath as he missed the turn to the burger place Kurt had asked to stop at. “I’m sick of this music. I need something different.”

“24 Hours from Tulsa?” Kurt suggested, going through the playlist Finn had made which was in no discernible order. “Talihina Sky by Kings of Leon?”

“That whole song’s about escaping from the place,” Finn said. “Geez. I can’t think why.”

Kurt skipped it, and found ‘Tulsa’ by Rufus Wainwright. “One could say the same about Ohio.” He let the theatrical music fill the truck as Finn unwrapped a Reese’s Big Cup with one hand and shoved the entire candy in his mouth. “I didn’t know you liked music like this. This is the song he wrote about the guy from The Killers, isn’t it?”

Finn crumpled the paper wrapping and it joined the others in his lap. Right now, he was being such a petulant _boy_ that Kurt wanted to shove them down his throat. “What _is_ this shit?” he said. “I don’t remember putting this on there. It sounds like the guy from Radiohead has a sinus infection.”

Ignoring him, Kurt pulled out the cord and put on a local radio station. A cheery weatherwoman told him that the ascending clouds would bring them a great deal of rain but that it should be _clear as a bell by morning’s light, y’all!_

“I hope it _does_ rain,” Kurt said, as they pulled into the parking lot. “It might wash away your mood.”

“What mood?” Finn said, parking his truck with something of a screech.

\--

The burger place was a wooden-fronted building painted in primary colors; it looked a little like a McDonalds might have in the 1970s. Kurt pointedly ignored the sign on the menu that said TRUST JESUS because if a restaurant specialized in one item, that one item would be _good_. He ate his burger on a picnic table, feeling the air turn pleasantly cooler as the moist juice dripped down his chin.

After, they took in an indie movie at the historic Circle Cinema. It was a pleasant end to a day that had left a lot to be desired, and Kurt was glad to end it on a high. It was close to midnight when the movie finished. Already, the rain had begun to pound down, plinking off the roof of the truck. Finn was cautious as he drove them to the Motel 6 in Tulsa South, telling Kurt that at least the rain might make his truck look _blue_ again considering its blanket of dust and dirt.

“She needs a name,” Kurt said.

“Huh?” Finn yawned, then tugged his t-shirt down over his stomach a little self-consciously. “Who needs a name?”

“Your sorry excuse for a truck.”

Finn carried Kurt’s and his bags as they dashed across to reception. “It has one. The Love Shack.” Finn looked back at the parking lot with an odd mixture of annoyance and nostalgia. “I wish I knew how to quit you, old girl.”

“ _Quit_ her? In less than a week you’ll be _scrapping_ her!” Kurt thought back to high school; Finn had been so proud of the truck Carole had bought him, because having wheels – no matter how rusted – brought a certain cachet. “I remember when Santana called her the Wheeled Shed of Dread.”

“She was just jealous she never got a ride.”

“So disturbing,” Kurt muttered, thinking of the half-faded ‘I treble clef Glee’ sticker. “It looks like it belongs to someone who still _is_ in high school.”

“It saw a lot of action. You never know, it might see some more.”

Kurt picked up his pace; he didn’t want to imagine what sort of _action_ had occurred in the passenger seat, even if Finn had assured him it had been thoroughly steam cleaned prior to the trip. “Fooling around in automobiles never leads to anything good,” Kurt said, quietly.

“Not even when we have fancy boyfriends and a fancy Nav?”

“Boy _friend_. Singular. And I choose to plead the fifth.”

\--

They checked in, getting a room with two king beds. Finn said his legs ached so much from the driving that they should take the elevator. The route entailed passing concrete walls, and concrete floors. The surroundings were nothing short of a suburban hooker hell; the outdoor parking lot was littered with chip packets and – ugh – used condoms.

“Well. This is…” Kurt opened the door, and wished Finn would carry him bridal-style over the threshold to stop him treading in anything horrific.

“It’s not great,” Finn said, muttering a curse under his breath as he trod on a pile of dog poop, wiping it off on the threadbare mat outside the door.

Kurt scowled, grateful when Finn set his bags on the bed as he didn’t want them to touch the floor. The carpet was freckled with burn marks, as was the shower curtain. When Kurt pulled back the sheets, he gagged at the rust-colored stain and crumpled them into a messy ball. Swiftly, he dumped the sheets in the brown-rimmed tub.

“Hey! I was gonna shower in there!”

“In _there_? Really?” Kurt reached into his bag for his wet wipes and gave the receiver of the phone a rub-down. “I’m going to see if we can switch rooms, but something tells me there won’t be anything better in this dump.”

“Well? Did you –“

“Ssh!” Kurt said, as he finally got through. The moment the guy on the other side of the phone informed him there was a bachelorette party that _a pretty young thing like you could join in_ , he slammed down the receiver down. His eyelid twitched.

“So that’s a no.”

“I’m sleeping on a towel. In my _clothes_.”

Finn wasn’t the sort of man to make a fuss. He was the sort of man who offered to sleep on Kurt’s floor because he didn’t want to mess up his pillow arrangement. He looked at Kurt, deadly serious. “I don’t blame you.”

Kurt attempted to wet wipe the day’s grime off as best he could until he heard a violent crash from the bathroom. He ran in immediately to find Finn staring at the toilet, bare of its seat which was on the floor. He stared at Kurt with wide eyes. “I really, really, hope I don’t need to poop.”

“So say we all,” Kurt said, preparing himself for an uncomfortable night’s sleep before he could hightail it away from Oklahoma.

\--

“It’s actually kinda cool.” Finn was turned on his side, facing Kurt’s bed; his face was shadowy, illuminated by the too-bright lights outside the motel window. “It’s like being back in my old dorm. I’m just expecting Puck to crash through the door, reeking of Keystone Light and pot.”

“So _that’s_ the college experience I missed out on.”

“We could steal the furniture.” Finn wiggled against the two bath towels he’d placed on his mattress. "Throw it in the pool?”

“I think it’s bolted to the wall,” Kurt said, a little regretfully. "A shame. That pineapple lamp has quite the Maison Jansen air.”

“This place is a shithole, and trust me, I should know. I stayed in every dive motel in Georgia.”

Kurt stretched out his arms, finding himself missing the warmth he’d received from Finn the night before. “Let’s try to sleep. We’ll have a better day tomorrow.”

“I sure hope so.” Finn’s bed creaked again. “Night, Kurt.”

\--

Kurt startled awake to a large thud, and instantly looked up at the ceiling. It wasn’t falling down, but he still took a deep breath, steadying his hand on the nightstand. The unfamiliar could really fray his nerves.

“Hey, Kurt.” Finn was awake, too. “You hear that? Like, drilling, or something?”

“Maybe the door decided to run away from the room.” Kurt reached for his phone and saw it wasn’t even four. “I’m going to try and get some more sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. Was gonna go on a run around the block; tire myself out.”

Stretching his legs until the joints popped, Kurt walked over to the window and peered through the curtains, placing his hand on the window ledge. “It’s a little… inclement.”

“Yeah, right. Stop being so dramatic.”

Kurt turned on the TV. The first item on the early morning news was a fluffy human interest piece about shaving poodles. The second was a weather update from an overly-cheerful anchor wearing too much purple eyeshadow and a Stepford wife haircut. She actually _grinned_ as she explained the storms would hit as early as 2 p.m, and had the potential to pelt the flat, dreary landscape with hailstones the size of quarters. It didn’t take much brain power for them both to conclude that Oklahoma was so dull that people tended to look _forward_ to that sort of a thing, provided it wasn’t imminently life-threatening.

“I always wanted to be whisked away to the Emerald City,” Kurt said.

“Isn’t that in Kansas?”

“I believe it’s _nowhere_ , because it’s _fictional_ ,” Kurt said. “Do you know, I’m working on an all-male contemporary adaptation of The Wizard of Oz?”

Finn gave him a dubious look. “Cool. But what are we gonna do? Drive out of this sorry state and find somewhere _interesting_?”

“Aw. I was looking forward to putting the homo in Oklahoma.”

“How long have you waited to say _that_?”

“Long enough,” Kurt said. He pulled back the blinds, and soon felt Finn’s presence next to him. They both stared at the rain which was already pounding down, although the worst wouldn't hit for hours. The swimming pool rippled at the surface, beer cans and chip packets floating in it. He walked back to his bed and sat down, wrapping his pillow in one of his sleep shirts and wriggled around, seeing if he could get comfortable.

“You don’t fancy staying?” Finn asked, his back silhouetted against the window. “You gotta admit, there’s something romantic about storms.”

“Ohio storms. Maybe even Californian storms.”

“Not Oklahoma storms with hailstones the size of my freaking _nads_ ,” Finn said, walking back to his bed. “You know what? I love the way the rain smells in the summer. I'm gonna go for that run, and risk taking a shower.

“Nads? What, we’re in 1996, now?”

Finn flipped him off, as he tied on his tennis shoes.

\--

Kurt skipped the crappy motel breakfast of soggy croissants and orange juice that hadn’t been properly defrosted. Finn didn’t look particularly refreshed from his shower, but offered to drive them out of Tulsa. The early morning light was watery and beige, and the rain pounded so hard it felt the roof of the truck might collapse. The low light made the shadows under Finn’s eyes seem deep and dark; he looked so _adult_ that Kurt was taken aback a little.

“Did you want to do _anything_ here?” Kurt asked, as they joined the interstate.

“Not really.” Finn wound down the windows and Kurt rested his elbow on the base of the window, feeling refreshed. “I did think about visiting the memorial in Oklahoma City. You know, for the bombing? Mom never really told me much about my dad but I found out he did boot camp at Fort Sill, in Lawton. But…”

“I’m sure I could find something to do while you paid your respects."

“I know you would. It’s not that. It’s just…” Finn wound the windows back up, his cheeks a little pink from the colder air. “I just don’t get it. I’ve fucked up, but it never crossed my mind to do something like that. I remember how angry I was when mom told me the truth. Rach said I was _right_ to be angry. That my dad had a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice,” Kurt said, the air feeling heavier all of a sudden.

“Do they?” Finn paused. “Do _I_? What if Rachel _is_ my destiny?”

“This is far too heavy a conversation,” Kurt said. “We’re supposed to be listening to silly music and finding a greasy breakfast spot, not having an existential crisis.”

Finn was quiet for a while. “It’s thanks to my dad that I want to get out there and _live_ life. I’m mad at him, but I don’t blame him for it. Not anymore.”

“This isn’t the time for pontificating.”

Finn lightly poked at his cheek. “See, I don’t even know what that word means. It sounds like something the pope would say.”

“That’s… not too far off,” Kurt said, the clouds growing even darker as they headed into Oklahoma City. “It means to express your opinion in a forceful way, or to officiate as a bishop.”

“How on _earth_ can it mean both those things?”

“Expressing forceful opinions is how religion works?”

“See?” Finn chuckled, but his brow was a little creased with worry. “You got the looks _and_ the brains of the operation. What the hell have I got? It’s not navigation, that’s for sure.”

Kurt watched the storm clouds come in, but he felt light and free, which must have been some sort of devil miracle considering his lack of sleep. “I have the _looks_?”

“Yeah. Totally.” Finn looked away, clearly humoring him. “Let’s explore downtown OKC before this rain gets even worse, and find something to eat.”

\--

The pair sat in the truck, debating on the best strategy to explore the outdoors. Kurt felt inadequately dressed; the only thing he had that was close to a raincoat was his Dolce & Gabbana trench he loved in high school, and it didn’t fit him these days. He wore a waxed jacket with linen pants and his hiking boots, and a brown nylon hat he borrowed from Finn. He looked like a flowerpot.

“Let’s rock and _run_ ,” Finn said, dressed much more suitably.

“Rock and run _where_?”

“Bricktown? It has a banjo museum, and a river walk?” Finn said, then opened the door of the truck and gestured to the water splashing around them. “Then again, _any_ walk will be a river walk. I had a college friend who lived here. She hated it. Moved to Houston the first chance she got, but she did say there was a place near here that makes the best wines in Oklahoma.”

“Does she _work_ there?”

“Probably,” Finn said. “Poor Oklahoma. It really is the unwanted middle child of states.”

“If we’re quick, we should be able to reach that restaurant over there,” Kurt said. “Ready?”

Finn nodded. He tugged his baseball cap down low over his eyes. Kurt watched him slosh his way through the parking lot the moment he’d locked his vehicle. (Not that there was any point; you’d probably have to _pay_ someone to steal the four-wheeled ode to late 90s America.) Kurt caught up with him, panting the breaths into his aching lungs, and he watched Finn remove his cap, rain drops tracing down the side of his face. Finn’s cheeks were lightly flushed, lips pink and damp, and his tall body took up most of the restaurant’s awning, a beaming smile on his face.

Suddenly, Kurt’s heart lurched and he was reminded exactly _why_ people kissed in the rain.

“I hate Oklahoma,” Kurt said, knowing his hair was a lost cause. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.” He stared at Finn, whose eyes flew open like a startled horse. “I can’t wait until we hit New Mexico. You can leave me in peace and do your damned Breaking Bad bus tour, and I can book myself into a day spa to sort out the damage to my face.”

“Kurt. Hey. There’s nothing wrong with your face. You look…” Finn moved to wrap his arm around Kurt’s back, but Kurt dodged him, pretending he was looking at the menu. “You don’t look anywhere near as bad as you think you do.”

\--

The pair lingered over brunch. It reminded Kurt of being back home; New York never seemed to sleep, but the smell of cornbread and fried potatoes seemed to make it grind to something approaching a halt. The café was homely with a bohemian vibe, the walls decorated with paintings from local artists. Kurt rather liked it; it was a nice counterpoint to eating junk food in their crappy motel room the night before. Finn shared stories about his life in L.A.; he told Kurt of the time he was mistaken for a pizza delivery guy when he’d tried to surprise Rachel with lunch on set and of how he’d humiliated himself in an Indian restaurant by drinking from the finger bowls.

The owner of the restaurant lent them an umbrella; they dashed around from business to business in the Paseo Arts District, Kurt admiring the handmade jewelry in the local galleries and nipping into a small deli to pick up some blackberry sage jelly for himself, and some fat free bacon mayonnaise he knew his father would love.

Before long, they’d made it back to the truck, bundling up their wet outerwear on the back seats. Finn reached under his hoodie and extracted a brown paper bag, showing Kurt the bottle of wine he’d picked up. It was called ‘Skirt Alert’, and the label showed a semi-naked lady flaunting her assets in a cheesecake pose.

“You bought _wine_?” Kurt raised an eyebrow.

Finn turned the bottle over and showed Kurt the reverse. “It’s your favorite. A Savage Non –“

“Sauvignon Blanc.” Kurt felt a little uneasy; buying your step-brother a pizza or some ice cream was one thing, but this was crossing a line. He examined the label, and perhaps it was a fluke, but the vintage was exceptional. “You didn’t just buy this because of the girl on the label, did you?”

“Nah. A skirt alert’s what the weather guys call it when you get really windy days. I thought it could be cool to grab a few things from the deli and have a picnic lunch. Save us from greasy diner hell.”

“You _like_ greasy diner hell.”

“And sometimes I like a change,” Finn insisted, buckling his seatbelt.

Kurt adjusted his mirrors; the visibility was already shocking, and he was a little scared about the drive ahead. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“I’m a thoughtful guy!” Finn said. “I mean, I try to be. Speaking of, you got me some candy for this leg of the drive, right?”

“Sour gummy worms?” Kurt said, holding out the bag.

“You’re the _best_.”

\--

The conversation flowed easily, and Finn kept looking at Kurt, his face fixed in a bright smile. Despite the damp creeping up the legs of Kurt’s pants, Kurt found himself smiling, too. There was more than enough sunshine in Finn’s demeanor to compensate for the humid, rainy skies above. The back roads were too dangerous, so they followed I-40, passing the State Capitol building as they exited Oklahoma City. Finn managed to hold his bladder until they reached the tiny town of Erick. The small green sign Kurt nearly missed welcomed them to the city, population 1063.

“Does it have population: bathroom?” Finn said.

“It must do.” Kurt took in the rain-faded children’s toys and houses with crosses nailed to their white siding. “You can’t be the first person to be caught short at the Oklahoma-Texas border.”

“Oh, thank _god_ ,” Finn said, as they came across a tiny truck stop with three parking spaces out front. “Can you refuel while I pee? This might be our last chance for a while.”

 --

The weather brightened up as they sped towards Texas. The skies were mostly blue, and Finn suggested they take a small detour to the ghost town of Texola. They drank the overpriced bottles of pop they picked up from the truck stop in Erick, and took a short walk. Finn seemed particularly taken by a business which looked to have been abandoned at some point in the 1970s. The once vibrant sign illustrating an auto shop, perhaps, or possibly a diner, was painted over with two contrasting shades of dark gray.

“No place like Texola,” Kurt said, examining the sign on the building that was painted in a blocky black font over faded yellow. “I’ll say. What on earth happened to the place?” 

Finn was a little bashful as he explained about the history of Route 66. The Interstate had passed by tiny towns like Texola, taking industry and commerce in its wake. He pointed at the sign on the other side of the building, “There’s no other place like this place anywhere near this place so this must be the place. Huh?”

“Depressing.”

“The fact they need, like, at least two commas?”

God, he was such a _teacher_. “Well, yes. But I was referring to the ghost of a town that the world didn’t even think about as it merrily passed by.”

\--

Kurt felt a little hollow when he was back on the road; everything around him was flat and windy, and looked a little like it was fading back into dust. He shook his head as he drove past an abandoned car, filled with thorny weeds and barely keeping hold of its shape. Before long, they came across a building called the Tumbleweed Grill that had a sign flashing it was open. Immediately, Kurt pulled in. The old stone building was impeccably constructed; the buildings around here were clearly built to withstand many generations of itinerant travelers like themselves.

While Kurt thought back to how the place would have looked like in its heyday, Finn had surrounded himself with the owner's chickens. A large yellow dog jumped up at his chest and Finn’s eyes sparkled as he patted its head, looking so carefree it made Kurt smile.

 _Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad life out here_ , he thought.

\--

They grabbed milkshakes from the Tumbleweed Grill, and then made their way back to I-40, intent on at least seeing some of Amarillo before it got dark. Finn couldn’t stop talking about the ghost towns and dust bowls they’d passed; he said it would be an easy life if all you had were sleepy small town ambitions and wide, sunbaked streets. Everyone looking out for everyone else.

“I can’t think of anything worse,” Kurt said, knowing deep down he’d been destined for New York whether he’d grown up in Texola, Toledo, or Tenafly, New Jersey.

“The choices would be so much easier, though,” Finn continued, still lost in his All-American dream. “Find a girl. Settle down. Get a place with a white picket fence, and a pick-up truck nicer than this heap of rust.”

“Marriage is overrated.”

“Really?” Finn reached into the bag of sharing size M&Ms he was eating. “Marriage is supposed to be, like, the best thing ever.”

“If you don’t enter it already wanting out.” Kurt extended his palm, and felt Finn drop candy into it; the conversation was making him need a sugar boost. “As I said, there’s a very willing bride-to-be if you _did_ feel the urge.”

“I thought that was the answer, I guess…” Finn sighed. “When I moved out to California, I told everyone that was my endgame. The night before I left for L.A., Puck had this huge fight with me. Told me I was crazy to run away because it wouldn’t solve my problems. I guess he was right.”

“So why _did_ you?”

“Why did _you_ marry Blaine?”

“Touché. I think you know yourself that when everyone _tells_ you someone is your endgame, you start to believe they’re right.”

Finn nodded. “I _did_ love her. I _do_. One night, a couple months after we’d got the place in Pasadena, I’d had a rough day. We’re talking, losing my rag during lesson observation rough. I swung by the grocery store, thought I’d pick her up something for dinner, and she screamed at me the moment I got through the door. For buying the wrong kind of _almond milk_ , and I thought, is loving someone really supposed to be such hard work?”

“It _is_ if you’re trying to love the wrong person.”

“We just fought. All the time. Over the tiniest, stupidest, little things.”

“I’m sorry, Finn.” Kurt reached over with his left hand and placed it on Finn’s forearm. He gave the warm skin there a light squeeze. “I’m sorry you weren’t what each other wanted, in the end.”

“I’m not.”

“No?”

“Nah.” Finn’s voice sounded happier, colored with his usual enthusiasm. “If Rachel was _really_ what I wanted, I wouldn’t be here. I mean, I was hella nervous about this trip. Part of me thought it’d be like Nettle Lake where you did everything you could to get away from me, but…” Finn exhaled, audibly. “It’s been awesome, and I… I don’t want it to end.”

Kurt shivered a little. He watched the desert scenery in front of him; the parched earth and blue skies stretched ahead like a blanket. “I suppose absence makes the heart grow fonder."

“You’re right. Love shouldn’t be hard work,” Finn said, handing Kurt some more candy. “Loving Rachel? That was harder than any class I took, or ever had to teach. _Finn, I need you home from work, there’s a spider by the bathroom cabinet. Finn, this tea is scalding my vocal cords. Finn, your cologne is incompatible with my signature scent!_ ”

“I love Rachel dearly, but I’m well aware of her foibles. Santana and I had to learn sign language when she started _saving her voice_ before every performance. Okay, so Santana only learned _one_ sign in particular, but I acknowledge the pair of us can be hard work.”

“You’re not,” Finn said. “I mean, getting to know you took a crap load of work, but it’s never felt like a chore. I don’t feel the need to change bits of myself to be what you want me to be. I can just be myself, and that’s awesome.”

“Nor should you,” Kurt sing-songed. “You’re amazing… just the way you are.”

Finn fell silent. He tapped his fingers on the tops of his thighs and the seat creaked a little as he adjusted the recline. Even in the large truck, he looked trapped and uncomfortable, like a spider caught in its own web.

“So you’re not in love with Rachel.”

“No.” Finn was resolute. “I’ll always _love_ her, but I’m not _in_ love with her. Not anymore.”

“But is she in love with _you_?”

“I think she feels the same way. Did you know she got back in touch with Jesse recently? She said he’s doing really well for himself; he put on a play he’d written at the Children’s Musical Theatre Festival about a giraffe who couldn’t dance.”

"Ouch. It's been ten _years_. He needs to bury his grudge."

Finn laughed, a little darkly. "Yeah, it's _totally_ based on me. The giraffe even breaks the meerkat's nose, but… I actually think he’d be good for her. He’s the only _straight_ guy I know who can match her intensity.”

“They would have very talented children,” Kurt said. “You know, Blaine wanted to have children by the time he was twenty five. It seemed so old when we were, what, seventeen?”

“Totally. I still feel like this huge, overgrown kid.” Finn shot Kurt a pointed look. “Thank god he didn’t manage to emotionally manipulate you into _that_.”

“I hate boys.”

“Being gay must be hard for you, then,” Finn deadpanned.

“I’m gay?” Kurt fluttered his eyelashes and affected a lisp. “How did you guess?”

Finn snorted so hard he sputtered on his mouthful of candy. “Kurt, you are so far out of the closet you’re in the freaking _basement_.” Pausing to swallow his mouthful of food, his voice turned a little more serious. “You _’_ re _you_. It’s the best thing _about_ you.”

Kurt sighed, and stared at the road ahead. They were fast approaching their next planned stop; a small town called Groom which was famous for a giant white freestanding cross, a leaning water tower, and a Dairy Queen.

“Own it.” Finn said, quietly. “You’re _incredible_.”

“So incredible my husband cheated on me, begged me to marry him, and then cheated on me again. _Twice_. Am I really that unappealing? Or was it that I just couldn’t give him the intimacy that he craved? There’s got to be something wrong with me, because Blaine made me his _everything_ , and we still fizzled out like a firework in a flood.”

“Maybe he wasn’t enough for _you_.” Finn said. They pulled over as they reached the settlement, the parking lot barely visible through the overgrown weeds and dark yellow dust. “I envy you sometimes. You never take the easy way out. Everyone still thinks I’m going to get back together with her. Even _she_ thinks I’m going to get back together with her. There you are, living the dream, and I’m stuck in this nightmare.”

“Then leave. Come to New York. Move in with me!”

“I – I don’t –“

“What’s stopping you from moving on? What’s holding you back?”

Finn tugged his hand through his hair. “The fact that maybe it’s true. That the grass is greener on the other side of the yard, or whatever. I mean, the worst you can say about yourself is that you’re unappealing? At least you’re not a freaking coward.”

“Move on, Finn,” Kurt said, a little terse. He looked out of the window and took in the giant white cross which loomed like an ecclesiastic nightmare.

“I’m fucking terrified of the alternative.” Finn slammed his fist against the dashboard, his voice so loud that Kurt’s eyes flew open. “I’m _terrified_.”

Kurt placed his hand to his chest, and unbuckled his seatbelt. He had to get out of the truck, the atmosphere making his heart pound so much he could feel it in his head. He knew Finn would want to use the restrooms straight away; his bladder habits were becoming frighteningly predicable. They were as predictable as Finn pressing _skip_ on the songs he knew Kurt wouldn’t like; like Kurt knowing exactly what to order Finn in any given restaurant. Kurt looked towards Finn and saw the bag of candy in his lap which was empty of all M &Ms except for the red ones.

Because he knew the red ones were Kurt’s favorite.

That wasn’t what _brothers_ did. It wasn’t even what friends did, and Kurt’s heart leaped into his throat when he realized precisely why Finn was terrified.

“I have an alternative,” Kurt said. He aimed for smooth, but his voice faltered. “It might be… different. From what you’re used to. But it shouldn’t be terrifying.”

“An alternative?” Finn’s voice was small.

“To Rachel.” Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat. He took in Finn’s profile; his face was covered with freckles, and the green in his eyes stood out in the sunlight, and Kurt didn’t think he’d ever seen him looking so handsome. “It might not stop you from being lonely, but you wouldn’t have to be alone out here.”

“The hell?” Finn shook his head. “You know it has to mean something. I’m here with _you_. Chilling out, and enjoying the scenery with my favorite person. You really think I’d drop my pants for some floozy you find in a bar?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“Then what _did_ you mean?” Finn snapped at him.

“Forget it.” Kurt breathed out through his nose, feeling the tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. “It was just an option. That was all.”

“Fine,” Finn said, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the truck. He slammed the door behind him, and made his way to the restroom, leaving Kurt with nothing but his thoughts.

\--

For once, Kurt wished for Santana to be sat upon his shoulder because he needed some brutal, honest advice. Instantly, he flashed back to a time when he was several years younger. He remembered tugging his scratchy sweater over his wrists back when he’d told Finn they should sing Olivia Newton John. How _stupid_ he’d been, going home that evening and rushing through his Algebra homework to stare in the mirror. His heart surged as he adjusted his bangs; turned up his smile at the corners and tucked his hair behind his ear just like Quinn Fabray did.

Even when he was only fifteen, Kurt had known it was a lost cause.

It was comforting, in a strange way, to pin your hopes on a straight boy that you barely even _knew_. The thing was, he’d learned to _really_ love Finn over the years. And now, at twenty six years of age, he found himself suddenly and distressingly in love with a _brother_ that he knew better than the back of his own hand.


	6. Chapter 6

Finn walked ahead of him as they explored Groom; the site was as tacky as Kurt had anticipated and he cringed at how the apostles had _abs_. He snapped a picture of Finn looking strangely small next to the giant cross, and felt an unease that had nothing to do with the religious symbolism. After Kurt used the bathroom himself, Finn took the wheel as they made their way towards Amarillo, the long stretches of flat desert broken up by the occasional touristy sign.

“Look!” Kurt gestured to a sign that promised ‘Free 72oz steak’ on Exit 74. “That’s The Big Texan! If you can eat it within an hour, it’s free.”

“Whatever,” Finn said, his eyes straight on the road.

“I thought one of the items on your bucket list was to eat a steak the size of your head?”

“Not really.”

“Are you coming down with something?” Kurt said. “I’ve seen you watch Game of Thrones with Puck and dare each other to eat two whole chickens like The Hound. I’ve seen you put away a gut-buster at Breadstix then immediately order a full rack of rubs. I’m worried.”

Finn’s face turned up in a slow smile. Kurt couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was definitely something duplicitous there. As Finn continued to drive, Kurt reached into his bag and extracted a nail file, trying to whip his travel-ragged talons into shape. They passed countless signs advertising places to stay, including a Red Roof Inn that promised rooms for $45 and would have been convenient for the Museum of Art. Finn didn’t stop, though, passing the ‘Jesus Christ is Lord’ travel center, and a small memorial park. Briefly, Kurt wondered if he was going to stop at Splash Kingdom, but he passed that, too.

(It really wouldn’t have been that absurd a proposition, given the heat.)

“Is this the way to Amarillo?” Kurt said, as they passed a liquor store and an Express Inn before Finn turned onto Highway 60.

“Every night you’ve been hugging your pillow!” Finn sung back, then blanched when Kurt poked him sharply. “Oh, come on, you do!”

“I choose to deny these allegations,” Kurt said, watching the motels and motorsports shops decline in number as the concrete-sided roads gave way to scorched earth. “Seriously, where _are_ we?”

“I thought we’d go off the beaten track,” Finn said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Do something a little different.”

“You’re not planning on a bank heist, are you? It’s _far_ too hot to be wearing black wool.”

\--

They soon arrived at a small town called Canyon. Kurt could see no canyon, nor much of anything else; he suspected they wouldn’t be stopping here for the night. Road-sleepy, his eyes drooped. He was in dire need of a nap, but Finn told him to hold on. Soon, he looked ahead and saw short stone walls, and an entrance to what looked like a picnic ground, perhaps. There was a large American flag, and a slightly smaller Texan state flag underneath. A picnic made no sense, though; there was nothing to consume in the truck but wine, bourbon, water, pringles, and a handful of red M&Ms.

“You took me to a _park_?” Kurt said, a little indignant. “That’s your surprise?”

“Nope.” Finn enunciated the _p_. “I took you to Palo Duro Canyon.” 

“Palo Duro _what_?” Kurt looked ahead at the scraggly ground. He saw no canyon, and indeed, nothing but scrubland. “I’ve never heard of the place.”

“Me either. Not until I sent a text to Puck; I remembered we toured the old Amarillo Air Force base down here a few years back. Thought he might have some ideas about what to do in the area. I never thought _he’d_ be the one to suggest America’s wilderness, but…”

Kurt shrugged, willing to give it a try. He yawned, eyes falling closed as Finn drove them through the entrance, but when Finn poked him in the arm, he startled at the sight. Acres of burnished valleys stretched ahead of him; the rock was what Finn would call dark orange, and what Kurt would call ochre. The early evening sunlight bathed the scenery, welcoming and warm.

“Pretty neat, huh?”

“It’s a beautiful place for a hike.” Kurt looked at his watch. “It’s getting pretty late, though. What’ll we do for food?”

“Option one: there’s a place here that does burgers.” Finn’s truck made a horrific sputter as they drove down the rim. “They also include a meal when you go see TEXAS: the Musical.”

“Over my cold, dead, Ohio body,” Kurt said. He enjoyed the scenery as the truck wound down the road, the canyon looming ever-closer until Finn pointed out a small stone cabin. It was separated from the road by a narrow wooden fence, and looked like it had been constructed in Fred Flintstone’s time. “Huh. People _live_ out here?”

“Not anymore,” Finn said, his face contorted in something of a grimace as the car struggled its way towards the visitor center. “These cabins were built by single guys our age. The government paid them to come out here during the Great Depression. Work the land; build paths and bridges so future generations could enjoy the place. Pretty honest life, but a damn hard one."

“A _very_ hard one, if they lived here,” Kurt said. He thought of the shale-colored rock walls and tiny sash windows. “It must have been _freezing_ in the winter. I’m not sure I could even spend a night in a place like that.”

“Well, crap.”

Kurt looked to Finn, his head bowed. “What do you mean, _crap_?”

“Puck told me they rent the cabins out, and I called on the off chance they had a reservation. I thought it would be cool! I guess we could always find a motel back in Canyon if you _really_ don’t want to?”

“It’ll be fine,” Kurt looked at the dusty ground in front of him. He mentally calculated how much water he had left in the truck and how much battery he had left on his phone; he was pretty sure the cabin lacked both water _and_ electricity. “It’s only one night,” he said, more for his own benefit, and hoped the dilapidated building at least had _bedding_.

\--

Kurt’s ire faded as they collected the keys from the Ranger Station. He knew how much Finn loved the outdoors; even _this_ was acceding to Kurt’s needs as if Finn had it his own way, he’d have camped out under the stars on a sleeping mat. Kurt tried not to think about his reservations at a Thai restaurant just outside of Amarillo, and readied himself for the reality of staying in a pile of rocks in the middle of the Texas panhandle.

“Isn’t this cool?” Finn said, as he opened the door with a creek.

“Wow.” Kurt breathed out; he needed to stop being such a judgmental snob.  “Finn, this is…”

“I know, right? I told you it would be awesome.”

Awesome didn’t even come close. Kurt did a quick stroll through the cabin, taking it in. It was sturdy, and felt secure, its original 1930s features preserved with care and consideration. The hand-carved wooden beams made it feel homely, and the plush queen bed had crisp white linens.

“You really like it?”

“I _love_ it,” Kurt said; he bristled with gratitude, and the uneasy swell of romance when he walked across the tidy living room and caught sight of the patio. Immediately, he unlocked the doors and opened them, the chill of the air conditioned cabin giving way to hot sun.

“So it’s not quite the _Grand_ Canyon, but it’s _a_ Canyon,” Finn said. "I just thought, well, what could be better than waking up to a view like this?”

Kurt looked out at the views ahead. Silent, he took in the magnificent scenery. The canyon stretched before him, the sun not too far from setting; everything was painted in creamy blush, the tops of the rocks sparkling like they were made from rose gold.

“It’s like a painting.” Finn walked over to the fence that was the only thing that separated them from the dust, and curled his arm around Kurt. They stood looking out at the canyon, hip-to-hip. “Thanks for getting me, man. I’d never have taken Rachel somewhere like this.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Kurt said. He was sorely in need of a shower, but he didn’t pull away. “Thank you for knowing I’m more than day spas, wine tasting, and art galleries.”

Finn mumbled his assent as Kurt closed his eyes and let the late evening sun warm his face. All Kurt could think about was turning towards Finn and embracing him until his lungs hurt and he pulled away, the sun scorching his kiss-ruined lips. Every single memory was twisting, churning in his head; the bad, and the good. Finn had stolen his heart back when he was a kid; he’d crushed it, then given it back to Kurt who’d tried to rearrange it as best he could.

Right now, Kurt’s heart didn’t even feel like his own. It hung heavy in his chest, pendulous and fluttering and he opened his eyes, wanting to take another look at the scenery.

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re like one of those old-fashioned diamonds?”

“A girl’s best friend?” Kurt said.

“Bright.” Finn’s hand slid down his back a little, fingers dipping behind the leather of Kurt's belt. “Brilliant. So many sides to you I’m _still_ finding them all.” 

The touch was making Kurt’s muscles ache, and his pulse quicken; he thought back to the way Finn had shrugged off their contact as nothing but a _force of habit_ in Nettle Lake. Kurt couldn’t be that moon-eyed, needy _kid_. It did such a disservice to the man Finn had grown into over the years, and if he did throw caution to the wind and embrace him?

Ten years of friendship, over as fast as Simon Cowell would press the golden buzzer on the X-Factor if he heard Mercedes sing Aretha Franklin.

“Don’t say things like that,” Kurt said, knowing one wrong move might bring back the _old_ Finn, who yelled when things didn’t go his way, and dealt with his emotions by throwing punches and kicking chairs.

“Like what?” Finn spoke softly, his hand staying in place. “I don’t know what I said, but I’m sorry for it. If that helps.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Kurt said, spinning around a little until they both faced each other. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then why are you mad?”

“I’m not,” Kurt said. It wasn’t exactly a lie; he _was_ mad, but at himself, not Finn. “Go take a hike. I think I’m tired; I could do with a nap.”

Finn stepped back and hooked his thumbs into his own belt loops. “Sure.” He didn’t smile at Kurt, though, and shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll see you in an hour or two.”

\--

Kurt felt more alive after his cold shower. He grabbed his tablet, and sat on the porch in one of the recliners. The sky was beyond description, a shimmering salmon pink; the stars would appear, soon. The view would be romantic, and he only wished he had someone to share it with. Before long, he heard the screech of tires, and saw Finn slam the door of the truck shut with his butt, his arms containing several brown paper bags filled with groceries.

“Need a hand?” Kurt called down to him.

“No, I got it! I –“ One of Finn’s bags fell on his foot, and a white tub hit the ground with a squelch, rolling across the dirt. “I got plenty of other stuff.”

“And I repeat, can I lend a hand?”

“I suck at surprises,” Finn said, as he walked through to the living room and placed his groceries on the countertop. “I suck so _bad_.”

\--

Within ten minutes, Finn had put together what looked to be a delicious dinner from the cold cuts and salad vegetables he’d found in the grocery store. He said that his original plan had been to throw some steaks on the grill, but there was a fire ban, and he didn’t think Kurt would want to eat a ‘cannibal sandwich’. Whatever _that_ was. Kurt tucked into his salad feeling almost virtuous and tidied up the spread, soon moving to the stone steps that led up to the cabin to watch the end of the sunset together.

“You won’t get _this_ in New York,” Kurt said, watching the fading sun illuminate the layers of rock. The stars were already becoming visible on the horizon, flecks of sparkle in the tranquil sky. “Not unless you go to the planetarium.”

“It takes my breath away,” Finn said.

Kurt didn’t need to articulate that it was perfect. Finn sat down on the stone steps, a short distance behind him, close enough for his chest to touch Kurt’s back. The midnight blue sky stretched ahead, fading to a soft turquoise at the bottom. There was silence around them; no animals, no people, and no passing cars. It felt like the two of them were the only people in the park, and while it was beyond a cliché, Kurt loved the fact he could hear nothing but Finn’s light breathing. He sighed with happiness when the sky began to darken even more, the canyon rock appearing to blend seamlessly into the fading light.

Finn pressed his nose against the back of Kurt’s ear, and slung his arm over Kurt’s shoulder. He pointed up at the sky. “You know the names of any of those stars?” he whispered.

“That’s Ursa Minor. I think.” Kurt traced Finn’s finger as he pointed towards the center of the now-inky sky. “And there’s Libra. My father knows them all. He tried to teach me when I was nine; we went camping together for the first time, after my mom died. I remember singing ‘When You Wish Upon a Star’ with him.”

“Did you make a wish?”

Kurt nodded. “I did.”

“You wanted to _be_ a star,” Finn said. “I bet you were more interested in sewing the things on your dance recital costumes than learning about the constellations.”

“You got me there,” Kurt said, with a soft laugh, noticing Finn was still pointing with his hand. “You’re not trying to find _yourself_ up there, are you?”

“Nah. Just thinking,” Finn said. His breath was warm, prickling the back of Kurt’s neck. His lips were so close Kurt swore he could feel their imprint. “You cold?”

“A little,” Kurt said as he shivered. It wasn’t from the balmy night air. “You don’t need to find yourself up there. You’re more than capable of finding yourself down _here_.”

“I guess. I can’t believe how quickly this trip’s going.”

Kurt nodded, leaning back against Finn’s chest. “Let's not think about that now. I found myself a gorgeous bed and breakfast in Santa Fe. They have an award-winning breakfast, and it’s next door to a day spa.”

“Can you even afford all that?"

“Money’s fine. I’m doing better than ever.”

“So why are you still living with _him_?” Finn asked; it was blunt but not rude. Finn didn’t want to cross-examine. “What do you even get out of it?”

“The same thing you get out of living with Rachel,” Kurt said. “I don’t want to be alone,” he admitted, relaxing into Finn’s embrace and feeling his exterior peel away like an onion skin. It left the inner parts he didn’t want anyone to see, watery and exposed. “I don’t want either of us to be alone.”

“We’re an _us_?” Finn’s hand, warm as ever, lightly played at the soft hair on the nape of Kurt’s neck. “This is wonderful, but we need to get indoors. We’re going to have to get an early start if you want to do some hiking and hit up Santa Fe in time to spend all day at your spa.”

“Are you implying I _need_ to spend all day at the spa?”

“Rolling my eyes right now,” Finn said. His joints creaked a little as he stood up, tripping a little on the adjacent step as he walked towards the cabin. “You don’t _need_ a spa. You never _have_. I know you love your fancy outfits, and your fancy hairdos, but like this? All freckled, and in your sweats? It looks real good on you.”

Kurt yawned; the still-hot night air and the depth of the conversation had taken a lot out of him. Finn was lying; Kurt knew his face was about as appealing as Little Orphan Annie’s, and he was dressed like someone you’d find on the People of Walmart website. It was a ludicrous thing for Finn to say, because he really _did_ look good on the open road, but he took in the stars one last time, trying not to dismiss the compliment.

\--

By eleven, Kurt was in bed. He luxuriated in the cool, crisp linens. It went unspoken that he’d be sharing a bed with Finn that night. As if on cue, Kurt heard heavy footsteps, followed by an _ouch_. He swiveled his head around, and his stomach felt like it did when he was at the top of a rollercoaster, his throat dipping down to meet it once it began to plunge.

“What?” Finn peered over his shoulder. “I got sunburn on my back?”

Kurt shook his head. Finn had always been _cute_ , in a wholesome sort of way. That wasn’t up for debate. This, though, was _sexy_. Kurt didn’t quite know what to do with that. His pajama pants hung low on the v-shaped line where his lower abs met his hips, and his arms were bigger than Kurt remembered, accentuated by the tank he wore. Carole had been right about him having put on some weight, but it certainly wasn’t a _bad_ thing.

“You want me to sleep on the couch?”

“We’ll manage,” Kurt said. He reached for the remote and turned on the T.V. It was an old episode of Man vs. Food where they were discussing cronuts. “Oh _god_. Does anyone even eat those things anymore?"

“Is that story about Blaine true?” Finn peeled back the covers and got into bed. “You know, when he split his pants after eating too many?”

“Yep. I changed my ring tone to ‘Baby Got Back’.” Kurt paused, turning on his side and away from Finn. “The bakery where they invented those is a few blocks from the apartment. I guess… I guess it’s going to be _my_ apartment. My apartment where I die alone. With cats. And the cats will eat me, sneak into my hope chest, and hairball my sorry remains over my Alexander McQueen scarf collection.”

“Not a chance.” Finn slung his arm around Kurt’s waist. “You don’t even haveto _live_ alone. You know I’d never let that happen.”

“Not even my cheating ex-husband wants me.” Kurt sniffed back a tear; Finn couldn’t have realized that his gestures and companionship were nowhere near what Kurt needed right now.

“Well, screw him. He’s impulsive, he’s arrogant, he’s completely lacking in morals, and we always had to put the closed captioning on because he talked through _everything_.”

“I have flaws too,” Kurt said, feeling his tears cool against his cheeks. His _lonely_ crying, Finn had called it, after comforting him the morning after the awful four-way break-up they’d had all those years ago. “It wasn’t all bad. I wouldn’t have stayed with him for five years if there wasn’t _something_ there.”

“C’mere.” Finn tugged Kurt a little closer. “Let me give you a hug.”

Kurt let him. Their skin, covered in clothes, barely touched each other’s. It was intimate, though; Kurt’s bare lower legs found Finn’s clothed skin. His body surged with electricity, like his skin was peeling from his muscles. He wanted so badly to taste, and touch. To never let go.

“Finn.” Kurt turned over so they faced each other, looking for a sign. “Can I…?”

Finn nodded, fingers rubbing just shy of Kurt’s hipbone. “You want to cuddle? Because I think we’re, ah…” Finn’s voice sounded a little embarrassed. “I think most people would call this _snuggling_.”

Kurt looked past Finn’s face, at the pictures of old maps enclosed by gold bevel frames. “Is that okay?”

“So okay.” Finn laughed, his breath hitting Kurt’s chest. “I’m so comfortable like this. Rach never really snuggled. She's always so restless, I think she only gets four hours sleep a night. Maybe it makes me lazy, but...”

“Oh, psh. I’ll make you a girlfriend pillow. I’m sure my talents extend to the cuddle-hungry man of the house.”

“You do that.” Finn’s smile dipped a little. “Give it really, _really_ big boobs. Are you okay?”

“Comfortable as an old shoe and the only boob in sight is the one right next to me.”

“Jerk.” Finn swatted Kurt’s hip. “Jerk, and a half-decent pillow pet.”

“Half-decent? Must be my dough face.”

“Oh, shut up,” Finn said, closing his eyes.

If Kurt were more courageous, he’d have made a move. He’d have said _make me_ , playful and bright, and then reached for Finn’s hips, pulling their bodies together. He’d have turned over; knelt on either side of Finn’s thighs and dragged his hands under the fabric of Finn’s tank top, running them over the smooth, pale skin. Feel Finn’s lips brush his shoulder, his skin shivering in its wake.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and tried not to even _let_ himself think.

Finn had always given him compliments, hadn’t he? He was a tactile guy; affectionate. It meant nothing more, and if Kurt let himself get swept away in the fantasy, he be carried out to sea.

\--

The following morning, Kurt could smell Finn’s scent on the sheets, but awoke to an empty bed and a pile of clothes on the bedroom floor. He opened up the patio doors; the sky was already a bright turquoise. He looked down at the dusty road and felt himself grow warmer as he heard the squeak of tennis shoes and saw Finn was enjoying the landscape on a morning run. Despite his intentions not to get swept away, he took a shower, thinking about the way Finn’s shoulders had rippled as he sweated his way across the landscape.

After showering, they went on a short hike; Finn said he’d flagged down a park ranger who’d recommended the Triassic Trail. It was built in the 1930s, around the time of their cabin, and hugged the canyon rim. They hiked north, following the natural contours and walking over a surface that was rocky with packed dirt instead of the smooth grains of sand Kurt had expected. They walked across small stone bridges as they traversed stream beds, Finn pulling Kurt up by his hand as they looked out onto the main park road, cringing at drivers who were struggling to make the climb.

“Now _that_ is a cool picnic spot,” Finn said, pointing to a rock promontory that hung in mid-air. “Let’s check it out!”

Kurt let go of Finn’s hand and cautiously walked behind him. The rock walkway was a little scary, but perfectly stable; looking down below, Kurt could see the floor of the canyon and the park’s riding stables.

“I could stay here for hours.” Finn pointed out some of the landmarks to Kurt, like the amphitheater and the Red River. “Great view, great company? Who needs anything else?”

“A _bathroom_?”

“Oh, shut up,” Finn said, good-naturedly.

\--

They returned to the cabin for another shower, breakfasting on pastries Finn had picked up from the grocery store the previous night. Kurt felt a little empty when he said goodbye to the tranquil cabin; secretly, he found himself thinking it was _their_ cabin. As much as he loved his city, he would have loved to have spent longer here with only a good book and the wilderness to occupy him. Horse riding was bound to look good on his resumé, right? It was Finn who dozed in the car this time, as Kurt drove them across to Albuquerque.

“Hey, Sleepyhead,” Kurt said, hating to wake Finn up. His face was serene, his hair flopping over one eye. “We really need to stop for gas.”

Finn yawned. “Where are we, Glenrio?”

“San Jon, New Mexico,” Kurt said, as he got out of the truck and pointed at the sign, saying ‘Taste of India’. “It’s a truck stop, _and_ an Indian buffet. How can you refuse?”

\--

They refueled the truck, and stopped for lunch in the restaurant. Kurt moaned with pleasure as he dipped his paratha into sour yogurt, feeling a world away from New Mexico and even America as the tinny Indian soap opera on the television above him drew to its dramatic conclusion.

“This is _so_ much better than the Indian place with the finger bowls and all the kale Rach takes me to,” Finn said, chewing on his naan bread. “I bet I could have this kinda food all the time if I lived in New York.”

Kurt chewed on his samosa, the buttery pastry melting against his tongue. “You’d be surprised. Most of the places Blaine liked served their chicken kebabs with guacamole.”

After eating, the rest of the drive passed quickly. Finn seemed to be devotedly interested in Kurt’s opinion on the best Indian food in New York. Then, Finn asked him about the best pizza places, and the best Mexican, and whether the place that sold nothing but meatballs was still thriving.

(Sadly, it was. Finn laughed for two minutes straight when Kurt told him they sold ‘naked balls’.)

\--

At Santa Fe, they grabbed a snack at a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place. Kurt’s strong coffee was laced with bitter cinnamon, and Finn’s face grew sticky with chocolate as he ate churros like they were his last meal. They made plans for the following day; Kurt was adamant he needed a day spa to look his best for Quinn’s wedding, whereas Finn wanted to explore Plaza Blanca and do some more hiking. Kurt felt a little empty when Finn dropped him off outside his bed and breakfast in downtown Santa Fe.

Then, he took in the sights and sounds. He knew he’d get more pleasure than Finn would from the city’s earthy, artistic charm.

The long portico outside the palace of the government bustled with traders selling Navajo jewelry and while it wasn’t to Kurt’s taste, he admired the craftsmanship. There was a lot to see in the city, and he wished he had more time to explore its atmosphere. The galleries had art that was of a much higher caliber than the dreamcatcher earrings he’d seen earlier, and his eyes widened when he saw something he knew would be perfect for Finn. He watched the store owner wrap the turquoise and silver cufflinks, and tried to tell himself he wasn’t crossing a line.

\--

After another coffee, Kurt walked to the spa. He’d booked a massage treatment, and lay face-down on the table while Carole King played softly in the background, singing ‘Some Kind of Wonderful.

 _Anytime my little world is blue_  
_I just have to look at you_  
_And everything seems to be  
__Some kind of wonderful_  

Thank god he’d never let Blaine sing that to him. It had been one of his mother’s favorites, and he’d associated it with Finn the moment he’d offered to dance with him at Burt and Carole’s wedding. Before long, he felt his skin grow slippery with almond oil. Wrapped up in a waffle robe, the five years of stress he'd accumulated from his marriage to Blaine dripped effortlessly from his pores.

“Some prosecco, sir?”

Kurt looked up and saw a girl who looked no older than twenty one. She held a fruit platter in her hands, and set it down in front of him. “I’ll take some water, thank you.”

“Perhaps a virgin mojito?” She beamed. “The mint’s fresh from the garden out back.”

“Water’s fine. Could you fit me in for a salt glow scrub?”

“Sure!” She chirped. _Charlie_ , her name tag read. She walked over to a mini fridge and opened it, handing Kurt a bottle of designer water. “Hey, you look… you _are_! You’re Kurt Hummel! You were in that revival of ‘The Nance’!”

Kurt cringed. “Sorry you had to see that. I was no Jonny Orsini.”

“Are you kidding? You were phenomenal! My girlfriend said I was stupid for trying to wait outside the stage door, and she was right. It was so crowded we gave up, but… you were amazing. Really.”

“I –“ Kurt paused, not at all used to being recognized in anything but a negative light. “Thank you,” he said, glowing more than he would from any salt scrub.

Charlie looked a little bashful, and extracted her phone. “Can I get a picture?”

Kurt nodded, and then a thought crossed his mind. “Hey, Charlie? I’m hitting Albuquerque tomorrow night with my brother.  Do you know of any –“

“Bars? I live in Albuquerque. We got _tons_.”

“I’m looking for something a little more… liberal,” Kurt said, as Charlie put her phone away and led him to the room where he’d be having his salt glow. “Let’s just say I’m going through a break-up, and leave it at that.”

“Got it,” Charlie winked. “I know just the place.” 

\--

Kurt caught a surprisingly impressive amateur performance at the Santa Fe opera house, then took an early night. He tossed. He turned. He really knew from the second he watched Finn’s island blue truck drive off into a far brighter blue sky that he’d have trouble sleeping. He admitted defeat and tossed back an Ambien, falling into an empty sleep.

The next thing he knew, it was nearly eleven a.m. and he made his way down to the breakfast table, only to see a very familiar face. Finn was sat chatting away to an older couple who had kind-looking, tanned faces. He said something to the couple that made them laugh and shook the man's hand before he grabbed his glass of juice and plate of pancakes, moving them over to a table for two.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“You told me this was the best breakfast in Santa Fe, right? I spoke to the owners, and they said it was normally guests only, but they’d make an exception this once.”

“Of _course_ they would,” Kurt said. Nobody could say no to Finn.

“Okay, so.” Finn reached into his pocket and extracted a small bundle of white paper. “I wasn’t _planning_ on buying you something, but it reminded me of you so much. The guy in the shop laughed at me. Said my girlfriend had weird taste, but…”

Kurt accepted the bundle. He opened it, and smiled. The gift was a pin, in the shape of a large spider. It was made from what looked and felt like high-quality silver, and the spider’s butt consisted of a large oval of silky, red-brown tiger’s eye.

“I _did_ look at the turquoise, but the guy in the shop said tiger’s eye boosts your creativity. Your courage. It’s good for self confidence, and…” Finn scratched at his head then took a sip of juice. “I can always take it back.”

“It _is_ weird,” Kurt admitted, unsure why Finn was nervous. He’d never been nervous when he’d given Rachel jewelry. He held the pin up to the light, admiring how the rich brown gemstone sparkled. “I _love_ weird. Thank you, Finn. It’s beautiful.”

Finn tucked into his pancakes as Kurt ordered some coffee along with the sweet potato muffins. “You really like it?”

“I _love_ it. I got you a little something, too.”

“Sure, but let me finish my pancakes first. I don’t want to get grease on my whatever-it-is.”

Kurt put his hand in his pocket, and extracted the jewelry box. He slid it over to Finn’s side of their cozy table. “I know it’s not something you’d usually wear.”

“That’s a small box for an Apple Watch, Kurt.”

“Oh, shut up. Take a look!”

Finn wiped his hands vigorously on the paper napkin. He scrunched it into a ball and placed it on his cleared plate, then stared blankly at Kurt when he opened the box. “Wow,” he said, then blinked. “These are the exact shade of blue the sky was, at our cabin yesterday. You really shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to,” Kurt said, gesturing to the silver and Kingman turquoise cufflinks. “I thought it might serve you well to add _some_ style to the drab suit you’ll no doubt be wearing to Quinn’s wedding tomorrow.”

“These feel expensive,” Finn said, examining one cufflink in his fingers.

“Quality lasts.”

Finn carefully put the cufflinks back in the box, and then closed it, clutching it tightly in his hand. “Luck and protection, right?”

Kurt nodded. “You’re always protecting everyone else. I figured you could use a little protection of your own.” Kurt looked away a little, and thanked the owner when she set a plate of muffins in front of him. “It was either that or a belt buckle in the shape of a black bear."

“Well, _someone_ made the wrong choice,” Finn said, snatching one of Kurt’s muffins and taking a large bite.

\--

The drive to Albuquerque was barely an hour; Finn discussed his hike as they pulled up to what looked like a generic tower hotel. Despite this, the place brimmed with warmth. Its large lobby was modeled in a Spanish, colonial style and the hot afternoon sun glinted off the glossy brick floor. Finn had chosen it because of its location, convenient for Old Town. His smile shone as brightly as the sun as he tore open the thick, dark brown curtains and told Kurt he’d purposefully chosen a north-facing room as it gave them a stunning view of the wide, rocky peaked Sandia mountains.

“What did you wanna do tonight?”

Kurt thought of the most delicate way to couch his plans. “A bar, perhaps?”

“Oh no. We are not going out drinking.”

“Come on. Live a little!” Kurt implored him. “It’s the first chance I’ve had to be myself since leaving New York.” 

“And what's _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I meant. I want to be myself. Let loose a little.”

Finn folded his arms across his chest. “You’re saying you can’t be yourself around me?”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic.” Kurt walked backwards towards the bed, feeling the edge of the furniture with the back of his legs until he slumped down, letting the mattress cushion his skin. “That’s _Rachel’s_ prerogative.”

Kurt tilted his head back and looked at Finn. His shoulders rose a little before he turned his head to the side, pretending to look at the scenery. He looked like he was chewing on lemons. "Can't we just hang out here?"

“You told me, back in Memphis, that I needed to –“

“Well maybe I don’t want to watch you surrounded by guys trying to get in your pants while I sit at the bar and plan this season’s fantasy football strategy in my head, huh?” Finn turned around, and did an exaggerated body roll. “Fine. I’ll let it loose. I’ll let it _all_ hang out.”

Kurt’s eyes darted to Finn’s butt. “I’ll bet,” he muttered, noting with dismay Finn had cut off his track pants just below the knee to turn them into long shorts. “Just don’t let it hang out in _those_.”

\--

The problem was, Finn _did_ let it hang out. He let it hang out so much that Kurt wished he’d stayed in the hotel room and consumed his body weight in chips. The moment Finn went to the bar, Charlie caught up with Kurt. She poked him on the arm, and pointed in his direction. “Look at that cutie,” she said.

“The drag queen with the plastic goldfish in the soles of her shoes?”

“No. That’s my friend, Peaches. I’m talking about that tall drink of water in the purple shirt. Go introduce yourself. He won’t be on his own for long.”

“That’s _Finn_. My step-brother. He could be the filling in a Russell Tovey and Matt Bomer sandwich, and he’d be straight as a die afterwards.”

“You’re _sure_?”

“Quite sure.” Kurt thought back to the slobbering make-out sessions he’d stumbled into far too many times in high school. “Let’s just say I’m aware he liked the fairer sex, and leave it at that.”

Charlie snorted. “Looks like he’s not _too_ far off base.”

Kurt looked over to the bar. It wasn’t hard to find Finn; he held a martini glass in his hand, and a drag queen with 5” heels and an _awful_ bleach job had her arm slung around him. Finn laughed loudly enough for Kurt to hear him over the tinny 80s disco music and only wished he knew what they were laughing _about_.

Him. Probably.

 _How very liberal of you, Finn_ , Kurt thought, watching him tiptoe up and whisper something in tall, fake blonde and trashy’s ear. _He’s in a gay bar and he’s still going for the biggest boobs and the longest legs_.

\--

After two drinks, Kurt was beginning to feel a lot less resentful of Finn, and a lot more content to let the music wash over him. He was soon hitting the dance floor -- at least, the sticky area that passed for one -- and flanked by a coterie of attractive long-haired women who told him how _adorable_ he was. Sadly, it wasn’t new territory. He used his exceptional shimmying skills to wind his way through the large number of warm bodies trying to butt-check him across the floor.

Soon, the tacky karaoke cover of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ screeched to a halt. The girl singing it turned around, and took a small bow. From across the room, he caught sight of a guy who playfully rolled his eyes. Kurt smiled back at him, before a college-aged guy took the stage.

 _You think I’m pretty,  
_ _Without any make-up on_

Oh, no. _No_.

Kurt wished he’d worn the spider pin. He needed all the _courage_ he could get. A little helplessly, he looked in Finn’s direction but Finn was – of all the things – twirling his fingers in another drag queen’s lilac wig. The guy singing had a pretty, light voice; it wasn’t _that_ which affected him, but the song itself. Nothing good could ever, _ever_ , come from ‘Teenage Dream’.

“Hey, there." A low, male voice startled him. "Are you missing your special someone, or looking for one?”

“Yes?” Kurt said with something of a snarl; that song made him want to bury his head in concrete, not look for romance.

The guy sighed. “Crap. Did I ruin it with the cheesy pick-up line? My best friend says _nothing_ breaks the ice like a cheesy pick-up line and…”

Kurt finally turned around. It was the guy who’d winked at him from across the bar during the previous song. Kurt took him in; he was perhaps a few inches shorter, with curly auburn hair that hung in a floppy quiff. He was dressed plainly; stylish but not trying too hard. “Can I buy you a drink?” Kurt blurted out, then felt his cheeks warm.

“I was hoping to buy _you_ one first,” the guy said, extending his hand. “I’m Gabe, and… I _really_ don’t do this, but you’re just adorable.”

Kurt looked over his shoulder. Finn was _still_ with his drag queen entourage. “Kurt,” he said, with a smile, and walked back over to the bar.

\--

Before long, Gabe asked Kurt to accompany him outside. The evening was warm, but the dry heat was less hostile than the sticky air inside the club. They stood by the wall of the club, chatting about their respective lives. Gabe was only nineteen, and a college freshman. Kurt couldn’t remember the last time he’d played this dance, and felt too small for his skin as Gabe looped his hands in Kurt’s belt loops, tugging him closer.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” Kurt pulled back, shaking his head. “I _can’t_.”

“Did I read the signals wrong?”

“No.” Kurt took Gabe’s hands in his. They felt oddly delicate after the past few days of holding Finn’s. “You’re _gorgeous_. You have every right to hate me for saying this, but please. Don’t _do_ this. Don’t throw away your first time in a bar with some stranger you’ll never see again. I’m seven years older than you, I live hundreds of miles away, and I’m going through a divorce. This isn’t what I want, and it’s not what _you_ want, either.”

“You saw me with Micah.” Gabe sighed, his eyes lighting up a little. “My best friend. He’s…”

“Your everything.” Kurt looked up at the clear sky above. “Boy, do I know that feeling. There’s… there’s someone else I like, and using you to get him off my mind really wouldn’t be fair.”

“The guy you came in with?” Gabe whistled through his teeth. “He’s a cutie. I don’t blame you.”

“He’s the cutest.” Kurt lowered his voice. “He’s also my brother.”

“Like… a _frat_ brother?”

“No. He's my _step-brother_ , really, but…” Kurt ran his nails against the outer seam of his pants. “Everyone thought Finn was going to get married to my best friend, Rachel. Rachel was so sure that she asked me to help her book a wedding venue the moment Finn moved out to L.A. The problem is…”

“Yeah?” Gabe said, his blue eyes wide.

“Finn grew up. And I think he might have grown up a little… gay.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Kurt smiled, tugging Gabe close for a hug. What a sweet, innocent kid. The world was going to bite _this_ one on the ass the first time he experienced heartbreak. Kurt wasn’t going to tell Finn his feelings for precisely the same reason Gabe wasn’t going to tell _his_ best friend how _he_ felt.

\--

When they went back inside, the karaoke had finished. One of the drag queens Finn had chatted to earlier was DJing. Kurt scanned the sparse crowd for Finn, but didn’t see him.

“Have you seen my brother?” Kurt asked Charlie.

Charlie said nothing. She smirked, and gestured to the pole, where Finn appeared to be doing some bastardization of the Macarena.

Kurt saw him. He covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh my god. It’s like he’s trying to audition to be a Hooters girl. Is he _grinding_ with her? Is he trying to absorb the height of the one person in a two hundred mile radius who’s _taller_ than him?”

“My _god_ ,” Gabe said from behind him. “You got it _bad_.”

“I can’t deny that,” Kurt said, and excused himself to visit the restroom.

\--

The restroom was cleaner than Kurt had expected, and free of any funny business. He looked in the mirror, and saw that his coif was coiffed to perfection. He’d had just enough to drink that his inhibitions were lowered, and it made him adjust his neck scarf and do his belt buckle up a notch. It was an old stripper trick, Sam had told him years ago, to _accentuate the goods_.

Well. Finn was going to notice his goods if it was the last thing Kurt did in his sorry life.

Exiting the restroom, Kurt strutted over to the bar and ordered two White Russians, knowing Finn had loved them ever since he and Puck had become obsessed with The Big Lebowski back in college.

“Hot stuff, coming through!” Kurt said, hip checking the drag queen who looked like she was about to eat Finn with a spoon. “Why don’t you get yourself something to drink, _sweetie_?”

“Excuse you.” The shorter of the two fluttered her fake lashes. “That boy is _mine_.”

“Charisma. Misty. It’s cool,” Finn said. He did another silly body roll against the pole, his cheeks flushed pink. Grinning, he took the drink Kurt offered him. “Thanks, bro! Dancing with these ladies is thirsty work!”

“Must be easy for a tall drink of water like you to stay hydrated,” either Charisma or Misty said. Her friend whooped. “Catch you later, Finny D!”

 “Finny _D_?” Kurt watched Finn take a very large sip of his drink. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

“Dancing?” Finn said. He rolled his hips a little, inadvertently bumping into the butt of another drag queen. “Sorry, Peaches!” he called out.

“That looked a lot more like _grinding_ to me.” Kurt put his free hand on Finn’s waist, and rubbed the thin fabric of his plaid shirt. “They’re all over you like flies on rotting meat.”

“Well I had to do _something_ while you went off with that guy.” Finn finished his drink quickly and set it down on a nearby table. His hand was cool when it cupped Kurt’s jaw without warning. “Why’d you do that? I thought we weren’t here for a hook-up. I just wanted it to be the two of us. Tearing up the place with a duet, like old times.”

“We just talked. That was all. I wish you’d told me you wanted to sing. How could I have known? You haven’t sung for anyone but friends or family in _years_.”

Finn’s fingers brushed Kurt’s skin before he pulled them away. “This reminds me of those dive bars in New York. We used to go with Santana. You know, the ones with the cheap liquor, and even cheaper drag queens who’d play the piano with their butts.”

“You _hated_ those.”

“I didn't when you were there.” Finn stepped forward. His voice was so quiet that Kurt could barely hear it over the music. “I wish you were _always_ there. I wish…” Looking away, Finn’s hand skimmed the dip of Kurt’s waist. “You know the other day? When you told me you could think of an alternative to Rachel? I, I kinda thought of one myself. It’s one I’ve been thinking of for a while”

Kurt’s fingertips shook, and he clutched his hands in Finn’s shirt, unable to steady them. “What… what did you think of?”

“I thought about how my life had gone, out in L.A. That if I ran from my problems, it would be easier, but I’m not gonna run from them anymore. I need to… I need to face them, yeah?” Finn smiled down at Kurt, his eyes softening. “I mean, who the hell even _cares_ what people think about me? I could have gone to Georgia, or to Alaska, or to that freaking _fake star_ in the sky named after me. I could have gone to New York, you know. Done what I wanted to do, because maybe I _could_ be smart enough.”

 “You _are_.”

“I used to think, _oh, it’s fate_. How stupid was I? It had nothing to _do_ with fate. The reason my life’s been so shitty is the fact that I was such a coward I ran away from what I really wanted. And then, I was pissed that I didn’t _get_ what I wanted. _Bam_. Story over.”

“Then maybe your story sucks, and it’s time to start a new one.”

Finn’s shoulder rose, then fell. Kurt felt his exhale hit his cheek. Without a moment’s pause, Finn groaned softly as he crashed his lips against Kurt’s. He tasted of cool milk, and his hands fumbled at Kurt’s back a little before he rested them on Kurt’s hips. It was intoxicating, feeling their bodies mold into one, and Kurt gasped high and needy into the kiss just as Finn pulled away.

“Shit.” Finn wiped his mouth with the back of his palm. “Shit. I’m sorry. Kurt, I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kurt said, his heart pounding so hard he was sure everyone in the bar could hear it. Licking his lips, he tilted his head up, moving in, but Finn turned his face and Kurt only met the scratch of stubble on his cheek.

“It’s not. It’s _not_ okay.” Finn punched his fist against his palm, and shook his head. “Dammit, I’m the worst person in the world!”

Kurt stepped back. Perhaps Finn _was_ , because he’d clearly been caught up in the moment. Kurt stared after Finn as he excused himself to go to the bathroom and turned on his heel before asking the bartender to call him a cab.


	7. Chapter 7

The cab driver soon arrived, and drove them through the still night. Kurt sat in the back seat. He looked out of the window, his hands folded in his lap. Oddly, the skyline filled Kurt with peace. The triangular tops of the mid-rise buildings glowed gently; the soft orange moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the Sandia Mountains

It was serene, and it made Kurt think things might just be okay.

“Hey.” Finn pointed ahead, speaking to the cabbie. “Can you pull into that pizza place?”

“Throwing a pizza on a roof?” Kurt piped up. “How cliché.”

“Thought you’d never seen ‘Breaking Bad’?” Finn said.

The cabbie screeched to a halt, and Finn seemed to yawn with his whole body. His knees bumped against the dashboard. As they pulled up to the pizza place, Kurt got out, figuring some fresh night air might help clear his head. The pizza joint had red Formica booths and wipe-clean tablecloths, and the pies arrived quickly; Kurt placed the boxes back on his lap as they sped back to the hotel.

\--

Once they were back in the room, Kurt sat cross-legged on the bed, the pizza in front of him. He didn’t care about getting grease on the sheets and he tore into his food like he was breaking a fast. The crust snapped as he bit into it, the green chili and ricotta dancing on his tongue. “Mm, this is _good_ ,” he said, the toppings melting in his mouth. “You don’t want a taste?”

“Nope.” Finn was sat at the desk in front of the Hawaiian Kurt ordered for him. “I’m just a regular guy, with a regular pizza order. That stuff’s, like, cottage cheese.”

“It’s called _ricotta_.” Kurt took another bite. “God, you wouldn’t last a day in New York.”

“You sure seem to _think_ I wouldn’t.” Finn dipped the crust in ranch, then crunched down on his mouthful. “Look. It’s… it’s been a long time for me.”

Kurt’s senses told him to stop eating. He wiped his hands and mouth on a paper napkin and closed his pizza box. His stomach was starting to feel like he’d eaten rocks, not dough. “Since you’ve been to New York?”

“No. I mean, since…” Finn looked down into his lap, then across to where Kurt sat on the bed. “You know,” he said vaguely.

“Are you…” Kurt studied the cheery Italian cartoon on the front of his box. _God_ , please don’t let him be wrong. “Are you talking about _sex_?”

Finn nodded, cheeks as red as the sauce he’d split on the collar of his shirt. He reached into the box and appeared to appraise another slice of pizza. “So, you know I like pizza? I freaking _love_ pizza. I always get the same pizza each time because I know it’s gonna be good.”

“Thin crust Hawaiian. Extra ham and jalapenos.”

“Right, right. But what if there’s something that’s _better_? Something that’s been there all along, but I never had the courage to, uh, order it?”

Kurt’s heart hammered. “It’s not cheese, is it? I mean, you _did_ live with a vegan for three years.”

“Shut up.” Finn closed his pizza box and then moved over to the bed, sitting down on the edge so his back was facing Kurt. “What I was _trying_ to say, was… I miss being close to someone like that.”

Kurt looked around the room, trying to occupy his mind with anything but the small, giddy voice in his brain. The place smelled like gooey mozzarella and baked dough; nothing a little Febreze wouldn’t fix.

“Rachel’s as crazy about you as she is about oral hygiene, and color-coding her collection of yoga pants. She thinks the sun shines out of your dad jean-clad derriere. Give her a call! Tell her she’s wasting her talent, and that she needs to get her butt out here to join you at Quinn’s wedding tomorrow. You know she’d take you back.”

“I don’t _want_ Rachel. We used to have this connection. Like, this awesome little bubble with just the two of us, and…”

“And _what_?” Kurt prompted, hating how terse he sounded.

“Rachel used to be this cute girl who wasn’t afraid to be different. I _loved_ that she wasn’t afraid to be different. But now, she’s the same as every other girl in L.A., and being with her felt like I was something she checked off her to-do list. I was like, kitchen roll. You need it, but nobody’s ever super-excited about buying it. I mean, half the time you leave it at the freaking _store_.”

“Forgive me for being crude, but do you miss _her_ , or do you miss the intimacy?”

Finn turned around, smiling a little with the corners of his mouth. “I miss being with someone who’s not afraid to be themselves.”

Kurt got up, placing his pizza box on top of Finn’s. He sat back down on the bed and placed his hands flat on the mattress. The silence seemed to intensify, Kurt able to hear his own breathing.

“It’ll be okay,” Kurt said, knowing his voice was as crisp as the air from the cooling unit that made his flesh goosepimply.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure pizza cheese can survive the apocalypse.”

“That was _not_ what I meant.” Kurt scrubbed at his face with the backs of his knuckles. “Finn, will you at least _look_ at me? Back at the bar, you told me you weren’t going to run from your problems. You _kissed_ me. Are we even going to talk about that?”

Finn chuckled, his laugh rich. “You don’t even know the _start_ of my problems. Don’t think, for one second, I think you haven’t noticed what my problem is. You’re so smart you don’t miss a single word, let alone something _this_ big, so I can only think you’ve not brought it up because…” Finn’s voice cracked. “Because you want to _let_ me run from my problems, just like you did when we were camping and I just wanted to –“

“What do you mean, when we were camping?”

“Kurt, I wanted you _bad_ , but…” Finn tugged his hands through his hair. “It was pretty clear you didn’t want me, so I tried to forget about it.”

“And you…” Kurt considered his words. He placed his hand on Finn’s thigh. “You still want me? Now?”

Finn nodded. “So much. I just didn’t think you wanted _me_.”

Kurt shuffled a little closer. He thumbed the sleeve of Finn’s shirt and closed his eyes, tracing the skin on Finn’s jaw, just below the line of his stubble. It was smooth, and soft, and his pulse seemed to quicken under Kurt’s touch. “How could you even _think_ I wouldn't want you?”

“Because you’ve had, like, twenty opportunities to make a move on this trip and you haven’t?”

 _Oh god_. Kurt thought back to Finn gently stroking his hair in St. Louis; Finn offering to kiss him in the Meramec Caverns; Finn’s sultry summer playlist in their hotel room in Memphis; watching the stars outside the humble but romantic cabin in the Canyon; Finn’s hurt at Kurt telling him he wanted to go to a bar and _let loose_. He let Finn cradle his face in his large, warm palms, determined to stop fighting his feelings and just _feel_ them.

“You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever _seen_ ,” Finn said. He let go of Kurt’s face and shifted back on the bed a little, propping himself up on his elbows. How the _hell_ could you not even, like, realize?”

Kurt didn’t want to waste any more time. He crawled forward on the bed and pressed his knee between Finn’s thighs, parting them. He licked at his own lips and slid them across Finn’s jaw. They tingled, catching stubble before they met the soft skin of Finn’s lips in a messy slide. Kurt let them dance across his own, and pulled away to meet Finn’s eyes when he reached down and fumbled for the fly of his jeans. He pressed the heel of his palm down on the hot flesh he found; Finn nodded, Kurt groaning in the back of his throat when he cupped him hard, Finn’s neck tilting back on its own accord.

“God yes.” Finn’s chest heaved, and he bit down on his lip. “You really want this?” he said, closing his eyes when Kurt reached for the button on his jeans, undoing them before he carefully unstuck the fly. “With… with _me_?”

“I don’t want anything more,” Kurt admitted, thumbing the waistband of Finn’s underwear. His heart swelled as he shuffled up a little and moved in for another slow kiss, snapping the elastic of Finn’s underwear back against his skin. He shifted his knee up a little, tilting his hips until their bodies were pulled flush together. Kurt whined at the friction; Finn’s hands were a little cautious at first as they seemed to map the contours of his shoulders, then rested at the curve of his clothed spine. Kurt swore he could taste Finn’s smile when Finn made a wet groan and slid his hand down the back of Kurt’s pants, finding his bare ass.

“Shit, you’re not even wearing…” Finn’s body jerked against his, and he reached for Kurt’s hand, sloppily kissing the backs of his knuckles. “My god, I just…” He groaned, Kurt tilting his knee to grind against his hard flesh. “Our friends are gonna _know_ tomorrow. They’ll know, and they’ll ask questions, and I –“

“Fuck that.” Kurt pressed his body down, hard. “I don’t care. I want you so bad.”

“Been wanting you all week. I wish I’d known. I wish you’d just _told_ me.”

Kurt took a deep breath. He lifted his hips off Finn’s body just enough so he had enough room to slide his entire hand inside Finn’s underwear. His fingers tingled as they skimmed along solid flesh, Finn wet and leaking at the tip. Kurt licked his lips, wanting to taste him everywhere. He looked up at Finn with soft eyes, wanting to convey that he’d wanted him for _years_ , but Finn’s eyes were squeezed shut, his hand jittering as it rested a little helplessly on the bedsheets.

“Last night,” Kurt said as Finn rocked back against him. “I missed you so much. I couldn’t sleep, thinking about you. Wanted you there with me in the morning so I could wake you up. Wrapping my lips around your thick, hard cock. Feeling you in the back of my throat.”

Finn’s eyes flew open. “Doesn’t that wreck your voice? Rach always told me –"

“Shut up,” Kurt snapped, Finn lifting his hips so Kurt could tug down his underwear. He groaned as he looked down and wrapped his fist around Finn’s cock. Finn seemed to pulse in his grip as he squeezed hard at the base and stroked him slowly up and down. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body turned to deadweight as he sunk into the mattress mouth falling in a wide _oh_. “Talk about anything other than how good my hands feel on you, and I stop.”

“You wouldn’t,” Finn gasped out. He moaned, thready, when Kurt tugged at his balls with his other hand.

“Oh, but I _would_ ,” Kurt said. He kissed Finn again, their teeth clacking with Finn’s gasp when Kurt traced his fingertips lightly up the prominent vein in Finn’s shaft. When he leaned forward again, he kissed at Finn’s neck and caught stubble against his lips, tasting sweat on his tongue when he pulled Finn in for another wet, deep kiss.

Kurt was feeling _himself_ get close, his cock rubbing messily against the seam of his pants. The cologne Finn had worn to the bar was barely perceptible, and Kurt could smell his scent; a little sweet, musky with a hint of perspiration, and it imprinted himself on his brain and made him strain even harder against the fly of his stupidly tight pants. His cock pulsed; he wanted to relieve the pressure but his hands were full of hot flesh, and his mouth was full of hot skin, and he briefly wondered whether it was even worth thinking at all.

He didn’t just want this; he _needed_ it.

They both did, Kurt figured. He took in the way Finn’s skin glowed pale in the moonlit room, and the sheer need in his dilated pupils, and tried to block his brain out; Sedona would bring strong coffee, and strong sunshine. Separate rooms, and sliding back into the roles other people had for them.

It didn’t seem to matter, not right now.

Kurt’s right hand squeezed harder around Finn’s cock, his left rubbing at the toned space of skin where Finn’s hipbone met his outer thigh. It seemed to be a good spot; Finn whined low, the hand of his sliding through Kurt’s hair became unsteady. Kurt could feel his large body tremble underneath him.

“Take these off.” Kurt tugged on the fabric of Finn’s underwear. “Please, I want to see you.”

Finn’s eyes looked away from Kurt’s as he lifted his hips, allowing Kurt to remove the clothing from his lower half. Kurt’s knee quickly resumed its position from earlier, the slick head of Finn’s now-bare dick rubbing wetly against it, and Finn himself tugged at the waistband of Kurt’s pants. He looked adrift; eyes wide, a little helpless, and utterly adorable.

“Did you want to get under the covers?”

“Yeah.” Finn nodded, then moaned as Kurt’s body slid back against his. _“Yes_.”  

Kurt pulled away to remove his pants, his dick bouncing against his stomach. He turned towards Finn; he wasn’t shy about his own body like he was as a blushing teenager. He took good enough care of himself he had no need to. Naked, he slid under the crisp sheets and joined Finn. His skin slid against Finn’s skin, slick with sweat, and he giggled as Finn kissed him on the nose. Kurt reached down for Finn’s cock, but his hand stilled and he gasped when Finn’s fingers gently brushed against his. Without pause, Kurt reached for Finn’s wrist and stilled it with a shake of his head.

“You don’t want me to…?”

Kurt did. Oh, he did. But he kissed Finn again, rolling his plump lip between his teeth. “Just relax,” he said, squeezing him in his grip. He shifted his body, moving down to touch the soft skin on Finn’s chest which hadn’t been kissed by the sun. “Relax for me, Finn.”

Finn had shifted up so the back of his head was at the tops of the pillows, arms folded behind his head. “I _am_ ,” he groaned, chest shaking. “Don’t fucking stop. I want your hands all over me. I want –“

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Kurt said. He tightened his grip.

“Kurt, _please_ ,” Finn sobbed under his breath. “I’ll come in seconds if you do that.”

Kurt took a mouthful of Finn’s flesh. He licked at Finn’s dusky nipple with the tip of his tongue, savoring how Finn’s hips shook as he sucked and tasted. “That’s a bad thing?”

“Mm.” Finn groaned, long and luscious. “Your hands feel so _good_.”

“Yes?” Kurt kissed his way a little further down Finn’s chest and then looked up, seeing Finn’s brow was creased. He shifted up, placing his finger on Finn’s slightly parted lips with the hand not on his cock. “Don’t think about it right now.”

Finn laughed a little as his dick pulsed in Kurt’s grip. “D’you even…” he started, his chest soon painted in a rosy flush. “D’you even know me at _all_?”

“I’m getting to know a lot _more_ of you,” Kurt flirted back, loosening his grip a little. “You’re gorgeous like this.”

“ _Just_ like this?”

Kurt tightened his grip. “All the time. Every moment, of every day,” he said, enjoying the rich laugh Finn responded with. The laugh turned into a wet, urgent moan as Kurt rubbed his thumb back and forth across Finn’s wet tip. Kurt kept up the eye contact as he skimmed his fingers of his other hand down the crease of Finn’s thigh. “I’d love to taste you.” Kurt looked down. He feasted himself on the way the head of Finn’s dick slipped through the stretch of his grip; he wondered how it would taste and feel as his mouth widened to take it, jaw aching.

“Anything. _Anything_.” Finn’s hand clawed at Kurt’s back, fingers shaking. “Move your hand, and… and use…”

“You want my fingers?” Kurt said, running one up and down the crease of Finn’s thigh. When Finn nodded, he slipped it below Finn’s balls, pressing just above Finn’s hole with the calloused pad. “That what you want?”

“My _god_.” Finn’s head tilted back as his hand clutched at Kurt’s shoulder. The veins on his neck were visible, dark blue against the pale, pale skin under his jaw where he’d not quite caught the sun. Finn’s mouth hung open, his jaw slackening as Kurt twisted his hand around his cock, and slipped just the tip of his finger inside.

“Let go, let go,” Kurt urged as he rested his cheek against Finn’s chest. His wrist was beginning to ache. “Finn, let go for me. _Please_.”

Suddenly, Finn’s body tensed underneath Kurt. His dick twitched in Kurt’s hand and he cried out into the still room as he spilled in Kurt’s palm, and onto the backs of Kurt’s fingers, and even his wrist. “ _Ohh_ god,” he said, his body shifting up a little before it fell back against the bed. “Holy shit, Kurt.” His face was flushed from his chin to his forehead and he smiled, dimple seeming even wider than usual. “Your _hands_.”

Kurt smirked back at him. He was particularly fond of them himself. He reached over to the far corner of the bed, finding Finn’s underwear, and wiped his hand off before he reached down and wrapped his hand around his own cock. Without a moment’s pause, Finn took over. His grip was a little clumsy and his hands rough, and before long, Kurt's toes were curling in the sheets and his body shuddered as he curled up against Finn, kissing him softly until his breathing stilled.

After Kurt cleaned himself up, Finn looked at him with soft eyes. Their kiss tasted a little salty from the sweat, and Finn’s arm felt even heavier than usual when he turned on his side and draped it over Kurt’s chest. Kurt reached up and placed his hand on top of Finn’s. They were connected in a whole new way.

“Did you want to go again?” Finn said, sounding a little embarrassed. “I’m not… I don’t think _I_ could, after that. But if you want, I could…”

“I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sure.” Finn yawned. He looked at the clock on the table next to the bed; they both knew it was a little after two in the morning, and as much as Kurt wanted to screw him silly, he really didn’t have the stamina. “Can we… can we pick this up? In the morning?”

“Want to hook up in the hot tub?”

Finn laughed. He softly kissed the back of Kurt’s neck and it felt like a promise, somehow. “I’ll hold you to that. Maybe I’ll be able to feel my legs by then.”

“You’d better. I’m not carrying you.”

“Kurt.” Finn’s voice sounded hesitant through its sleepiness. “Are we okay?”

“I am if you are.” Kurt wiggled back, the safety and security relaxing every muscle in his body. “Goodnight, Finn.”

\--

Kurt spent the night soundly asleep; he awoke at about three to use the bathroom, and pondered about what they were exactly. _Lovers?_ Not really; they’d always had a love for each other. _Boyfriends?_ That didn’t seem to fit, either. Finn was his family, and Kurt’s stomach sunk to his toes when he realized that you didn’t sleep with your family. The image of his father’s face telling him he _mattered_ popped into his head, but he let himself enjoy the way Finn’s soft snores tickled the skin on his jaw as he faded back into a deep and dreamless sleep.

At least, until rock music assaulted his ears, waking him up like a bear coming round from its torpor.

_Loaded like a freight train_  
_Flyin’ like an airplane  
_ _Feelin’ like a space brain_

“I hope your freight train _crashes_.” Kurt banged his fist on the thin wall behind him. “Wear headphones. It’s six in the morning!”

“Ssh.” Finn’s voice rumbled against his back. “It’s just my phone.”

“At _this_ time?”

“Hello?” Finn’s voice was dark with sleep. Kurt could hear low, masculine laughter on the other end. “Puck, dude. _Not cool_. If this is a prank call about ‘Lola’ needing bail money, I’ll…”

Kurt reached over and yanked the phone from Finn’s hand. “He’s busy, _Noah_ ,” he said, and hung the phone up. Without pause, it began to ring again, the tinny noises of Guns & Roses’ ‘Nightrain’ reverberating in Kurt’s head.

“What the hell?” Finn whined. “I told him last night I was back in L.A.”

“Why would you tell Puck you were back in L.A. if –“ Kurt smirked, and rolled over until he was facing Finn. They were close enough for their noses to touch, and he pressed a soft kiss against Finn’s lips. “Oh, you are one sly dog.”

“Yeah. If Puck knew I was _this_ close to him, I’d never be able to have you to myself.”

Kurt licked his lips and skirted his fingers along Finn’s hipbone. “Turn off your phone, then. We have some unfinished business to attend to, big guy.”

“Big guy?”

“What, you’d prefer Sunshine?” Kurt sighed as the phone rang again. Finn stared at it like it was a deadly spider crawling across his naked chest. “Perhaps the nominative determinism will catch on.”

“Yeah, maybe. Pass me a dictionary and I’ll let you know.”

“You need to speak to him, don’t you?”

Finn nodded. The sheet slipped a little from his naked shoulders, and Kurt already felt his pulse quicken at the strong muscles and ivory skin. “He’s my best _friend_ , Kurt. We both know Puck’s not got himself into a bad situation in years, but…” Finn interlaced his fingers with Kurt’s and gave him a quick kiss. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t get him out of a jam. Don’t you go falling asleep on me, hm?”

“I wouldn’t _dream_ of it.” Kurt looked to Finn. “Get it? _Dream_?”

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Finn said, stroking Kurt’s hand before he pulled away.

The intimacy of the gesture startled Kurt a little; it was love he saw reflected in Finn’s eyes, but they’d just had a bit of a fumble, hadn’t they? Kurt watched Finn get out of the bed. Naked, Kurt could take in the strong lines of his back and the dimples at the base of it. The moment the delicious sight walked into the bathroom, Kurt rolled onto his front and buried his nose in the pillow. It was odd how everything just seemed easy, and breezy, and… like nothing between them had actually changed.

Well. Except for Noah Puckerman cock-blocking him in the early hours of the morning. _That_ was new.

\--

“Kurt.” Finn’s hand was warm as it shook his shoulder. “Hey, Kurt. It’s time to get up.”

Kurt scrubbed at his eyes. The large red digits on the alarm clock informed him it was 7.42 a.m. _Crap_. Finn was already dressed and held a paper plate containing a slice of congealed, leftover pizza.

“And to think Santana at least got a _burger_ afterwards,” Kurt muttered.

Finn either ignored him, or didn’t hear. He bit down on his pizza. “Ugh. This stuff’s the worst when it gets all chewy. You want me to heat some up for you? I picked up some hot sauce sachets from the Taco Bell in Santa Fe.”

“How could I _possibly_ refuse a hard sell like that?” Kurt said. He flexed his toes before he got out of bed, and walked over to the table where Finn stood. He wrapped his arms around Finn’s waist and breathed him in. Finn was clean from his morning shower, and almost smelled unfamiliar after the previous night.

“Awesome.” Finn placed two slices on a paper plate and put them in the microwave. “I was just thinking about this store, back in L.A. ‘Light My Fire’, next to the Whole Foods in Fairfax where Rach used to do her grocery shopping. They sell nothing but hot sauce. Is there a place like that in New York?”

“Probably.”

“I guess so. I mean, they have everything in New York. Except, I dunno, manners?”

Kurt sighed. “I don’t miss that. I can’t believe we only have two more nights.”

“For now.” The microwave beeped, and Finn yelped as he juggled the hot bottom of the plate and set it down on top of the closed pizza box. “Two more nights on the road, huh.”

“Hm.” Kurt took a slide, blowing on the top of the molten, reheated cheese. IT was clear that talking about their relationship was the last thing on Finn’s mind, right below ‘hot sauce’, and trying to steal the hotel miniatures. “I don’t want any more surprises. Let’s just make the most of the time we have.”

“If that's what you want,” Finn said, his eyes not meeting Kurt’s.

For almost the entire trip, Finn’s expression had been bright and sunny; he wore his feelings on his face and it was one of the best things about him. Silently, Kurt watched him chew on his cold pizza, and _inscrutable_ was the only word that came to mind.

\--

By nine a.m., they’d eschewed the breakfast offering of limp eggs and soggy toast, and were heading towards Sedona. Finn’s stomach growled louder than the truck’s engine as they sped down I-40. They were silent, Finn not saying anything until he suggested they pull into the casino which offered a $6.99 breakfast buffet. He said nothing, barely looking up from his hash browns as Kurt picked at something that purported to be bacon.

“We’re making great time.” Finn’s voice sounded flat, with the steely reserve of a man used to spending far too much time behind the wheel. “You want to stop off at Holbrook, maybe? See the Petrified Forest?”

“If you want to.”

Finn scowled. “Don’t _be_ like that.”

“Like _what_?” Kurt said, genuinely confused. They’d been so comfortable the night before, and now Finn was acting like a stroppy, petulant _kid_.

\--

Soon, they were back on the road. Kurt stared out of the window at the burnished scrub as they passed through Chambers, Arizona, his eyes feeling just as dusty and dry. Needing something to listen to other than the litany of told-you-so in his brain, he cued up his music player. He’d connected it to the iTunes on an old laptop the Hudson-Hummels had shared, which hadn’t been updated since 2013 or so.

“Is that Michael Bublé?” Finn cracked a laugh. “Your music taste scares me.”

“Must be Carole’s,” Kurt lied, and pressed skip.

The next song was jangly, with an alternative rock intro that Kurt didn’t recognize. The melody was pretty, but Finn quickly scowled as the lyrics became clear. The guy was singing about sleeping with a _friend_ , and Kurt pressed skip. He prayed for iTunes salvation, but was rewarded with ‘One Night Only’ by Jennifer Hudson, ‘Everything Has Changed’ by Taylor Swift, and something by a band called New Found Glory he’d never heard of singing about _waking up to the green of your eyes_ and he swiftly pulled the cord connecting his player to the stereo.

“Talk radio?” Finn suggested, as the player hit the floor of the truck with a thunk.

“Talk radio,” Kurt echoed, fiddling with the radio until the watery introduction of ‘American Pie’ sounded out. “Wait. This one’s not half bad.”

Finn cranked up the volume. “Yeah,” he said, clearly not wanting to dwell on the previous night either. “A classic’s a classic for a reason, right?”

It was the most Finn had said to him for over an hour. By the time the chorus rang out in the truck, Finn was smiling again and had asked Kurt to open him a bag of candy. The truck smelled like cheap, synthetic fruit as they both sang along. The skies grew bigger and bluer as they sped down the Interstate to Sedona, the temperature shooting past a hundred degrees. Kurt enjoyed the scorched scenery; it was most soothing than the humid, sweaty armpit Manhattan was in early July.

 _Maybe he’ll never think he’s good enough for New York_ , Kurt thought, trying to imagine Finn sitting on his roof terrace with a tall glass of coke, or his large body curling up against Kurt’s in the queen bed that took up most of his small bedroom in his apartment. _Maybe if he actually loved me, he could at least try?_

\--

The rest of the drive passed quickly; they didn’t discuss what had happened the previous night, but the awkwardness faded to their usual camaraderie. They chatted about their favorite current Food Network shows, and how there never should have been a remake of ‘Grease’. It wasn’t as though Kurt had expected Finn to extract a bouquet of wildflowers and get down on one knee while singing ‘Someday’ from West Side Story. Even when Kurt was fifteen, he hadn’t been _that_ deluded. Still, he was expecting _something_ , and stared out at the scenery as Finn continued to chat about his failed attempts at surfing the waves of the Pacific.

“What’re you wearing?” Finn said. “You know, to the wedding?”

“A suit?”

Finn turned to him with a smile; his face was painted with more freckles despite the sunscreen Kurt insisted he slather himself with. “Me too!”

“Wow. What are the odds.” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Is this your way of asking me to tie your tie for you?”

Finn coughed a little. “I got this old bow tie of my dad’s to wear. I figured you could help me out, unless….” His eyes darted away a little. “Maybe you can think of a better idea?”

Saliva pooled in Kurt’s throat. He was glad he wasn’t driving as he would probably have veered off the road.

“Kurt, you gotta know, I can’t stop thinking about last night.” A slight flush covered Finn’s cheeks, covering his light brown freckles. “I can’t stop thinking about _you_. About how you look when I'm --”

“Driving at ninety on the Interstate isn’t really the time to discuss this.”

“Oh.” Finn’s mouth dipped. “Okay.”

“Believe me, any _other_ time you want to talk about me, I’ll be all ears.”

“And hands, I’ll bet.”

Kurt exhaled. He reached across and squeezed Finn’s thigh. “And mouth.”

“Shit, don’t _do_ that. I’m getting, like, a semi and I think I’m driving around ancient burial grounds. Puck told me you can get arrested for shit like that.”

“Mm. I’d break you out.” Kurt brushed the inseam of Finn’s shorts with his fingers. “Give you a little snog through the bars. Bake you a red velvet cake with a nail file inside. It’ll be romantic.”

“I watched ‘Oz’.” Finn pushed Kurt’s hand away. “Prison relationships never end well. Look, I want to just pull over and let you – I just want you, so _bad_ , but it’s probably best for me _and_ my truck if we stay law-abiding.”

“Fun spoiler,” Kurt huffed.

“Yeah. Never thought _I’d_ be the responsible one.” Finn’s hand was, Kurt noticed with satisfaction, trembling a little. “Seriously, stop it, or I’ll crash the truck and we’ll never make it to New York.”

Kurt’s voice caught in this throat. _We_? He snapped out of it, though; he didn’t want to diminish Finn’s sunny mood by questioning him about his slip of the tongue. Not when Finn’s sunny mood had just come back.

“I really thought there’d be, like, huge cacti and stuff here.” Finn pointed ahead. “Oh my god, is that a _deer_?”

“A pronghorn, I think,” Kurt said, watching the animal prance away from the road, the sun blazing ahead of them like a spotlight as they drove through the desert. Finn was cheerful, talking about the time he went to a beach in California with glass rocks and explored the tide pools, and Kurt smiled back, enjoying how the very admittance Kurt had been on his mind was enough to make much of the tension burn away.

\--

The red rocks of Sedona snuck up on Kurt; the flat desert scenery exploded into magnificent vistas and high forests. By the time they’d arrived at the wedding venue, just off the Interstate, they barely had twenty minutes to spare. Finn’s room was little more than a shoebox, so they used Kurt’s as a base, showering and dressing hurriedly. Finn looked achingly handsome in his suit, but Kurt despaired as he fixed his bow-tie.

“Why don’t you just admit you’re a Mets fan,” Kurt said, eyeing the bright blue and orange fabric with despair.

“You know they light up the Empire State Building in team colors, right?” Finn said. He adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, fixing them with the turquoise cufflinks Kurt had bought him in Santa Fe. “It would be cool to be there for that. Will you fix my hair for me?”

“Sure. Sit down.”

Kurt stood behind Finn, a generous amount of sea salt spray in his palm. He slicked his palms and rubbed his fingertips through Finn’s road-messed hair; he’d not had a haircut since visiting Ohio, and he need lots of assistance to tame his locks. When Finn closed his eyes, lips falling shut, Kurt moved his fingertips to rub at the back of his scalp.

“Mm. That feels good,” Finn said, his head tilting back. “Probably as good as that massage I gave you back in St. Louis.”

“It wasn’t a massage. It was headache relief.”

“Yeah, right.” Finn smirked up at him. “You didn’t even _have_ a headache.”

Kurt ignored him. He pulled his hands away, indicating he was finished, and let Finn examine his handiwork in the dresser mirror.  Already, Finn’s cheeks were pink at the tips, and Kurt had to look away. Finn’s lips were pale, lacking some of the pigment of Kurt’s and he could only think about kissing them until they were ruined, dark and flush.

“Well. Crap.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I look like some horny kid.” Finn placed his hands in his pockets. “No, it’s… it’s not a bad thing, but you have to admit, seeing our friends is going to be awkward.”

“There is no conceivable way anyone could pick up on this,” Kurt said. He adjusted his paisley ascot to hide the blush-red bruises Finn had placed just above his collarbone the previous night.

“Santana.” Finn spat out his friend’s name like it was a bug he’d swallowed. “She’ll pick up on it before she even _sees_ us.”

“So? Did you forget who _she_ hooked up with?”

“Me?”

“The bride-to-be.” Kurt smiled, patting Finn’s shoulder. “If she _did_ have issue with this, it would make her nothing more than a giant hypocrite.”

“I’m telling you, she’ll never let us hear the end of it. My face looks so gassy when I lie about stuff.”

“Your face is _not_ gassy. Your face is _gorgeous_.” Kurt wrapped his arms around Finn’s waist, breathing in the fresh apple of his cologne. “Every single girl here would stuff the bride’s bouquet down my throat if they knew I'd spent the night with you.”

“Yeah, right. Santana said she was bi until she experienced her seven seconds in heaven with me. Hell, I was such a _sure thing_ that two of my exes slept with each other.”

“And?” Kurt adjusted his own hair; it was wilting already, and he hadn’t even left their air conditioned comfort of his hotel room. “They were hot, single, and swore off the hairier sex. It was a foregone conclusion.”

"Is that what we are? Two friends, hooking up?" Finn muttered, his eyes darting down a little. “I’ll meet you downstairs, Kurt.”

\--

As Kurt made his way down the wide staircase, he felt a little like he was in a bad romantic comedy. Truth be told, he’d felt that way for the past week. The yellow and cream flower garlands wrapped around the banisters soon gave way to the yellow and cream form of Quinn’s mom, standing just outside the entrance to the hotel. She gave Kurt an uneasy smile, and pointed to his seat, which was close to the back of the rows of white chairs on the lawn. After five minutes, Finn came and sat down next to him, sweat already beading at his hairline.

“Kids are so inefficient,” Kurt said, as a girl who could have been no older than four tossed yellow rose petals down the aisle of what looked like Republican Barbie’s dream wedding. “Can’t they hurry up and get on with it? I don’t want my obituary to say I was cut down in my prime by heat exhaustion.”

“Be nice, Kurt.” Finn’s voice was firm. Serious. “That’s Quinn’s _niece_.”

Kurt stared down at the spider pin Finn had got him, admiring how its butt glimmered in the buttery sunshine. He put his phone away when the wedding march started up. It was as traditional as everything else, and the crowd made a collective _ooh_ as Quinn appeared. She looked like a beautiful, jaundiced meringue. Slowly, her face fixed in a resigned expression, she walked down the aisle on her mom’s arm. Kurt stared at his cuticles, still soft from his paraffin manicure, as the priest droned on with the sort of voice that could cure insomnia.

“Cut it out,” Finn said, jabbing his arm.

“I didn’t _say_ anything.”

“Just wait,” Finn said, quietly. “I know your marriage went to hell in a hand cart, but there’s no need to…”

“Uh, Finn?” Kurt poked him in the bicep. "Does Puck have a long-lost twin brother was well as a long-lost _half_ brother?”

“No? Why would you –“ Finn’s eyes flew open as they took in what was not a promising young doctor, but a man sprinting down the aisle wearing a perfectly pressed Air Force Uniform. “Oh, thank god. He finally manned up.”

“You _knew_ about this?”

Finn grinned so hard his eyes were thin slits. “It’s nice to know you don’t go through my phone. Trust is a very important foundation for a relationship.”

Kurt slapped him. “Seriously? Puck’s wanting her to elope with _him_?”

Finn nodded. “Totally. Quinn’s one of the only things he’s ever been serious _about_. I sent him a few texts when I found out about the wedding; he didn’t get back to me until this morning when he told me he was up all night thinking about her. I told him what _I_ wish I’d done the last time I saw someone about to make a huge mistake, and…”

“Ouch,” Kurt said, shaking his head as the loud sound of Quinn smacking Puck across the cheek reverberated through the serene venue. “Oh, no. That would actually have been _romantic_.”

“No. You don’t get it.” Finn smiled as they both watched Quinn run away from the bridal canopy, quickly followed by her mom who moved surprisingly adroitly for a woman in her 50s wearing yellow Louboutins. “It _is_.”

“But she slapped him!”

“Yeah. Quinn only acts like that around people she really, really loves. I’d best go talk to him. Finalize the plan.”

“Your plan?”

“ _The_ plan.” Finn gave Kurt’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “It’s all gonna work out, I promise.”

\--

Kurt walked over to one of the outdoor tables where a yellow parasol promised some sort of shade. He decided to stay put, knowing Finn would bring him back something cold from the bar. As he wilted like an orchid in a hothouse, he checked his phone, and dashed off a quick text to his friend Elliot. They had a quick conversation until Kurt noticed a woman was stood opposite him, a bottle of champagne and two glasses in her hand.

“Can I help you?” Kurt said. She oozed old money, and he felt a little uncomfortable about being cougar bait. Especially when the only thing he wanted to do was drag Finn under the buffet table and have his wicked way with him.

“I overheard you and your friend talking earlier,” she said, handing Kurt a glass. “My first wedding after the divorce was absolute _hell_.”

Kurt patted the seat next to him. “Oh, sweetie. Come sit.”

“Sit? I’m celebrating. I didn’t marry for love, and I’m so glad Quinnie won’t make that mistake.” Pausing, she sat down to fill Kurt’s glass. “I’m Annie. Quinn’s cousin. We’d all heard about _Noah_ , but we…”

“Quinn can _exaggerate,_ but Noah’s the real deal,” Kurt said. “It was a foregone conclusion. You don’t need to have watched Runaway Bride to know how these things pan out.”

“Wasn’t the remake of that movie just dreadful?” Annie smirked. “Brody Weston can’t act, but let’s just say I wouldn’t run away from _him_.”

“Brody Weston?” Kurt said, and sprayed out a mouthful of champagne on the lawn. He’d never forget Brody and his _rooster o’s_. “He used to date my best friend, Rachel. _Date_ being a rather loose interpretation of the word.”

“Oh my god!” Annie shrieked. “You’re the guy that sung to the sonogram!”

“No. I’m Kurt. I like hot tubs, but they don’t get me _that_ excited. The hot tub guy is…”

“He’s _me_ ,” Finn said from behind him. He carried his own bottle of champagne and set it in the rectangular tray of ice set in the middle of the table. “Is champagne okay for you, Kurt, or did you want a vodka tonic?”

“Champagne is _perfect_.”

“Great!” Finn patted Kurt’s shoulder, then quickly pulled away as Annie bit down on her lip. “I’m just going to make a quick call.”

The moment Finn’s back was turned, Annie reached into her purse and extracted a Chanel compact, reapplying her lipstick. “Mm. Is he single?”

“Technically,” Kurt muttered. He didn’t trust this lady and her loose, Juvederm lips.

“Mm.” Annie snapped her compact shut. “It wouldn’t be a hardship to work around his little hot tub problem.”

“It’s really not a problem anymore,” Kurt said, then took a large sip of his champagne. “So Rachel told me,” he explained, weakly. “Rachel tells me _everything_.”

Annie raised her eyebrow (Kurt was surprised she actually _could_ ) and Kurt reached into the tray of ice set in the table and popped a cube in his mouth. As it melted, so did Kurt; he was burning up quicker than the Wicked Witch did when she escaped from Munchkinland.

\--

Later on, Kurt found Mercedes. Or, more accurately, the royal blue sequins on her cocktail dress which he saw long before he saw her smile. They hugged and sat down on a table by themselves; Mercedes told him she was being paid to sing so she wasn’t _too_ upset about having to change her carefully-planned list of originals and jazz standards. They chatted about Rachel; Kurt admitted he didn’t know quite why things had soured between her and Quinn, especially when Rachel was one to make her grievances well-known.

 _Sometimes_ , Kurt thought back to how close he was to Mercedes in his sophomore year of high school, _people just drift._

“Hey, Mercedes, congrats on your BET Award!” Finn said, holding another bottle of champagne in his hand. “You want some?”

“Aw, hell no. This diva only drinks Krug.”

“Sorry.” Finn set the champagne bottle down. “I can try and see if…”

“You can take the boy outta high school,” Mercedes said, and held out her glass. “Kurt, if you dare do _my_ wedding in buttercup yellow, you’ll be drinking from the doggy dish.”

It was nice to catch up; soon Mercedes excused herself. Nothing kept a diva from her stage not even a failed wedding. He could only imagine how much Rachel would bristle if she were here, though he had to admit, the diva-off would be _spectacular._

“To Puck, and Quinn.” Kurt extended his champagne glass. “The only people I know who should have got married back in high school.”

“Puck and Quinn,” Finn echoed, clinking Kurt’s glass.

“I can only imagine how horrified Russel Fabray is right now. I _love it_.” Kurt smirked, and took another sip of his drink. “So, is this _another_ wedding color scheme I’ll have to plan, or are they eloping to Vegas?”

“You’re not gonna like this.” Finn set down his glass and fussed with the edge of his bow tie. “They’re eloping tomorrow morning, and Puck wants _me_ to help him make it perfect for her.”

“What? But we – we only have two more nights before we –“

“You’d do the same for _your_ best friend,” Finn said. “Look, he had a few this morning to get some liquid courage, and he’s in no fit state to drive. He needs a place to crash, and to figure out his Ketuvah, whatever the hell that is, and guess which idiot booked out the last room in the hotel?”

“Give him your room, then,” Kurt snapped.

“I _could_ , but you really want him to know we’re fooling around?” Finn’s face softened. “There’s a time for telling people, Kurt. This is _not_ that time. It’ll be cool. He’ll pass out after drinking too much Jack, and by eleven, I’ll sneak into your room and you can help me look into renting a Stormtrooper costume.

“A what?”

“Puck wants to do a Star Wars wedding dance. It’s gonna be _sweet_.” 

“Sweet? Your best friend is cock-blocking you, twice in one day, and you think it’s sweet? What if you actually _were_ here for a hook-up, hm?”

“Don’t be stupid. Puck knows I’d never do that.”

“That’s it! Tell him you’re into Quinn’s cousin. You know, that woman I was talking to earlier?” Kurt was currently eye-level with Finn’s chest. It was pretty difficult staring at his small, pearly shirt buttons when all he wanted to do was rip the damn things off. “I’m not mad at _you_. I’m mad at the situation. Quinn and Puck get each other, and it’s nice to see a culmination to all that shared tension and history.”

Finn nodded, and lowered his voice. “Love isn’t about just that, though. If it was, you’d be with that guy in The Warblers who threw rock salt in Blaine’s eye and photoshopped me with a tiny brown… thing.” 

“Ah, Hedwig and the angry half inch,” Kurt said. “Although, if you decided to mingle with drag queens again, red lipstick _is_ rather fetching.” Kurt learned a little closer, knowing nobody else was close enough to see him lightly nip at the lobe of Finn’s ear. “Puck’s sorting out the limo rental, and Quinn’s gone to find a new wedding dress. Why don’t we go back to my room?”

“Yeah. It’s so cool. Seeing Quinn happy. I’m so pleased she doesn’t have to settle for some snooty guy who thinks that –“

“Oh look. Check out god’s gift to feminism.”

“Santana,” Finn said, rolling his eyes at the same precise moment Kurt did. “Shouldn’t you be planning the bachelorette party?”

“I _am_ the bachelorette party.”

“Cut to the chase, Santana.” Kurt refilled his glass. “Why’re you sneaking around?”

“Sneaking’s what I do,” Santana said. She tugged down the hem of her dress. “I got into the Norwood Club by scaling their walled garden. I walked behind Hilary Clinton and told her that skirt she was wearing was on-fleek before her security detail told me to get lost. I even snuck onto the series finale of ‘Orange is the New Black’.” Santana ran her tongue over her teeth and swayed her hips, wagging her finger between the pair. “I sneak around enough that I know _someone’s_ hiding a little something. Hm?”

“Santana, be quiet,” Brittany said, a vision in her diaphanous gown. “Animal control might be here.”

Finn blinked, then looked at Kurt. “Huh?”

“I brought Lord Tubbington. His vet said the desert air would be good for his feline asthma. He was going to carry the flower basket, but he went on strike after room service refused to send up a fondue.”

“Sorry he’s poorly, Britt,” Finn said, gently patting her shoulder. “Look, me and Kurt. We gotta go help Puck with …”

“Wedding things,” Kurt finished. “Important wedding things.”

“Whatever. I’m sure if you ask Quinn _really_ nicely, she might let you pop Finn’s man cherry in the bridal suite. You two finally realized your exes loved singing duets with each other more than they loved singing them with _you_?”

“I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about,” Kurt said.

“Me asustaste!” Santana shrieked. “You popped it already?”

Kurt scowled “The only thing _popping_ here are those tatas of yours.”

“I can’t say I blame you. You wouldn’t be the _first_ couple to go up the wrong aisle,” Santana said, her face softening a little. “I’m not even sure why she agreed to this marriage crap when she _knew_ she’d want out. Any idiot knows the longest relationship she’ll ever have is with her Anthro loyalty card.”

“Harsh words from someone who wears _red_ to a society wedding,” Quinn said, springing up behind them. She’d changed, and wore a blue and white print dress with a dipped back, looking every inch the girl she was back in high school. “I see Rachel didn’t show. What’s her excuse this time; more plastic surgery?”

“She had a _mole_ removed, Quinn,” Finn said. “I’m sorry she didn’t show. The invite went to our old address, and by the time _I_ knew, she’d already agreed to her movie.”

Quinn, mercurial at the best of times, pulled Finn into a hug. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, his larger body seeming to swallow her up. “You too, Kurt. It’s been _years_.”

Santana let Quinn draw her and Brittany into a three-way hug. “I’m seriously thrilled. I mean, Puck’s an asshole, but he’s _our_ asshole, you know?”

“This is the best day of my _life_ ,” Quinn drawled, hugging Kurt so tightly he was scared he might shatter. “All those years, lying to myself. I feel so free!”

“You’re gonna be _great_ together,” Finn said.

Quinn reached into her purse. “I have _you_ to thank for it,” she said, and handed Finn a key card. “Puck told me what you’d done for him, coming all the way out to Arizona from L.A. without even a place to stay. Said he wouldn’t have had the courage without his wingman; it’s only right you have this. You never know, you might find some romance of your own!”

Finn raised his eyebrow. “Where will _you_ sleep?”

“Oh, I can share with Brittany and Santana.” Quinn smirked, a little she-lizard. “I know you’d insist you’d share with Kurt, but my cousin Annie drove in from Tucson and has had _far_ too many drinks to drive back tonight. Perhaps you could make sure she's okay?"

“Annie?” Kurt ground out, then startled when Finn jabbed him in the back. “Oh, yes. The lovely Annie.”

Finn looked at Kurt briefly before he looked down at the grassy lawn. It was cruel, but also accurate, to say he looked like he was passing wind when he felt guilty about something. “She seemed nice, but… I’m not really in the mood to meet anyone. Driving all the way from L.A. was hard work,” he said, exaggerating a yawn into his fist.

“Oh no.” Quinn yanked the key card back and handed it to Santana, who tucked it into her cleavage. “You are _not_ using my bridal suite to hook up with your brother.”

“Finn and _Kurt_?” Santana said. “Don’t be tacky.”

Kurt nodded. He looked across to Brittany, who was running her fingertips along the ice sculpture and sucking them into her mouth. “I have far better taste.”

“We _all_ do, now,” Santana said. “Trust me, you should be glad you never slept with him in high school. I’d get more turned on from making out with that half-empty champagne bottle, and that bottle would do more than lay back like a laptop with a bust-up hard drive.” She lowered her eyebrows, daring Quinn to comment. “Taking his virginity was a democratic process. I just happened to draw the very short straw.”

“That’s not what democratic means,” Quinn said. “Sorry managing a Coyote Bar didn’t school you in politics.”

“Sorry an Ivy League education didn’t school _you_ in deportment.”

Brittany looked up from the ice sculpture in child-like wonder. “Does that mean Lord Tubbington’s not being sent back to Cuba?” She clapped her hands. “Yay!”

\--

Kurt and Finn left the Unholy Trinity to their argument, and grudgingly admitted they perhaps had ulterior motives for giving away the bridal suite when Santana’s dark, sticky red pout curled sinfully and suggested she was after a confrontation of a different kind.

“You should go to Coachella with me next year,” Finn said. He was piling slices of chilled beef tenderloin on his plate.

“I’ll go when they invent SPF 500. And give out noise-canceling headphones. And invent sunglasses that make white girls wearing headdresses vanish before my eyes. Now, Burning Man I could get behind. Nothing like a little pyromania in the name of artistic freedom.”

“Mm. I’ll come with.” Finn’s voice was low, his lips whispering in Kurt’s ear. “Rub some aloe in those hard-to-reach places. Do you even realize how your ass looks in those pants?”

“Believe me, it’ll look a _lot_ better out of them.”

“They look tight.” Finn rolled up his slice of beef and popped it in his mouth. “I think they’re starting to chafe.”

“Come help me find something more comfortable,” Kurt said. He looked over his shoulder, and watched Santana’s eyes fix upon his as she made an obscene gesture with her fist before giving him an exaggerated wink.

\--

They made it to the elevator undetected, passing a young guy, face pimpled from teenage acne, who removed the flower garlands from the staircase. Finn took Kurt’s hand and slammed his other palm on the button to call the elevator. The moment the doors had closed, he pulled at Kurt’s shirt, his chest visibly heaving as Kurt whined in the back of his throat and stared at the opulent ceiling.

“Shit, Kurt. You look so _good_ ,” he said, voice shaking. “Watching you out there, not being able to touch you… it’s been _torture_.”

“Wait until we…” Kurt groaned as Finn’s lips nipped at his neck and placed his hand on the grab rail. “Wait until we reach the room,” he said, his eyes fluttering closed at the soft, warm sensation.

“Screw waiting. I’ve been waiting all _day_ ,” Finn said, his hand reaching around to pull their bodies together. “I’ve been thinking about you all day, all through that boring vicar’s speech, wanting to fall to my knees and –“

“Do it.” Kurt tilted his head back down and heard himself whimper when Finn’s sun-warm lips met his. He pulled back to rub his finger at them, his own tingling. “God, the moment I get you through that door, you’re going to push me down on the bed, kiss me until I’m breathless.”

“Yeah. _God_ , I can’t wait to –“

The elevator pinged just as Finn was pulling him in for a kiss he knew would sear him to the bones, but instead of hot skin, Kurt heard a high-pitched yelp. His eyes flew open, and he saw a very familiar face in the elevator mirror behind them.

“Hummel?” Puck said, and started to laugh until there were tears at the corners of his eyes. “Holy _shit_ , Finn. Guess we both manned up today!”

Kurt tugged down his shirt as he exited the elevator. He looked to Finn who had his arms folded over his chest, bottom lip stuck out. “I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about. I was just checking he didn’t have cilantro between his teeth.”

“Bullshit. Your cheeks are redder than the devil’s eyes. What, you were checking with your tongue?”

“Why aren’t you on your way to Vegas, Noah?” Kurt said, stepping around him. “Isn’t that what one does when one elopes?”

Puck smirked. “Didn’t you tell him, Finn?”

Finn nodded. “Puck’s crashing with me tonight. We got wedding stuff to plan.”

"Yeah, no disrespect. You dudes can do what you like in Kurt’s room, but I don’t do threesomes unless there’s a hot chick involved.”

Kurt placed a hand against his forehead and fake swooned as he watched the two friends sling their arms around each other, and do some weird handshake that involved far too many fingers moving in ways that were far more coordinated than anything Finn had achieved in Glee. “My fragile heart can’t take this,” he muttered, resolving to annoy Puck so much that he’d be begging him and Finn to leave him in peace.

\--

Kurt annoyed. He annoyed like an annoying wind, but Puck didn’t take the bait. He did cheesy personality tests on his phone while Puck made his way through a hip flask of Jameson, then some beers Finn had picked up for him to _frontload_ with. He reveled in his relative sobriety while Puck took no time in stripping off to his black socks and brightly-colored Iron Man briefs.

“I gotta pee,” Puck announced, mid-way through his and Finn's card game. He stood up, far too steady on his feet for someone who’d drunk so much. “Shit, man. I’m gonna break the seal, and then –“

“Yeah, dude.” Finn looked almost sympathetic. “Golden river.”

“You wanna go to your room and get us some more booze, Kurt?” Finn said. “Maybe that bourbon we got in Memphis?”

Kurt hesitated. The bourbon they’d picked up from Memphis was good stuff. He wasn’t willing to waste his good stuff on Noah Puckerman, whose own idea of _good stuff_ was Bud Light. He stood up, intent on getting the friends something from the bar. Given the way they were acting like teenagers, he was sorely tempted to make it two bottles of orange soda.

Puck raised his eyebrow when Kurt said _we_ , but he didn’t seem to notice Finn’s slip. “I love you so much bro,” he said, punching Kurt in the arm. “You best come back and help with wedding plans, ‘cause Finn’s suck ass. He didn’t even find me a _limo_ , yet. Thinks he can get away with murder by grinning that dopey grin and barfing out rainbows.”

“Shut up, Jackass. When have I ever let you down?”

“When we went to get tats?” Puck looked at Kurt who was staring at the carpet. “Holy shit, Hummel. You got a _tattoo_? I know divorces make you do some crazy shit, but…”

“If you must know, I have _three_ , and they were all acquired prior to my divorce. You’ll be pleased to know that I didn’t know what _you_ did, and got my name branded on my skin for all eternity. Why is that, Puck? You can’t forget it, considering how you constantly refer to yourself in the first person.”

Finn laughed. “Let me guess. It’s so _chicks_ don’t forget it?”

“No chick forgets the Puckasaurus,” Puck said, grabbing his crotch.

“Go _get_ your chick, and get outta my hair, asshole,” Finn said. “Seriously, take my room. I’ll crash with Kurt and you can do whatever the hell it is you want to do. Poop in the tub, or throw the T.V. out the window.”

“Aw.” Puck clutched at his chest. “You two going to read comics under the covers? Play teacher?” Puck waggled his brow. “Oh, _Mr. Hudson_ , I’ve got a hard, _hard_ problem from your bio class.”

“I teach social science, douche.”

“Whatever. Hey, you want me to give you and Hummel some tips?” Puck wagged his two fingers. “See, chicks always _say_ they don’t like The Shocker, but I’m telling ya, they…”

“We don’t need tips,” Kurt huffed. “And if we _did_? We wouldn’t be asking _you_.”

Finn bent down. He picked up the discarded bundle of Air Force uniform and threw it at Puck, knocking him back against the bed. “You’re not a _badass_. Stop pretending you’re like, this horny dog trying to hump everyone’s leg. You _cried_ watching ‘From Here to Eternity’, and you want ‘Wind Beneath Your Wings’ for your first dance, so go sober up, find _yourself_ that limo, and don’t call me until there’s some decent gold on Quinn’s finger. ‘Kay?”

“Deal.” Puck walked over to Finn and clapped him on the shoulder. “Look, it’s gotta be some scary deep shit, but even a blind guy with his head up his ass could see the way you two look at each other. Kurt’s my boy, you know?” Puck turned to Kurt. "And better Finn than some limp-voiced gargler who can’t keep it in his pants. I know it’s weird, but it’s… actually pretty sweet. You two got my support.”

Kurt breathed out, averting his eyes a little as Puck did indeed put on pants. “Finn?” he said, watching Finn’s face twist a little. This would only be the start of coming clean, and he sighed, knowing everyone’s reactions wouldn’t be so easy.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Puck,” Finn said. His face hardened as he looked towards Kurt. “You gonna go get us some booze or not?

\--

Kurt’s eyes prickled as he tore out of the room, walking the short distance down the corridor to his own. Blissfully, the hotel was free of people; they’d either gone to their own rooms, or found that the romance of Puck’s surprise arrival had spurred them towards other people’s. Well, gag him with a spoon. His eyes stung, and he held back tears until he reached his door, put his hand in his pocket, and realized that he’d left his wallet – and key card – in Finn’s room.

Slumping to the plushy, carpeted floor, Kurt tasted salt on his lips as he put his head in his hands. How _stupid_ of him. If Finn didn’t want to talk about it, there was no chance he wanted to _admit_ it. All he’d wanted was a cheap fumble from someone who was guaranteed to be head-over-heels; he was probably laughing about it, now. A wedding full of attractive, moneyed women he would pick from was all it took for Finn to realize he need not have gone for the easiest option.

Well, Finn Hudson could get his own damn liquor, for starters.

“Kurt?” Santana’s voice was soft, and soon Kurt felt a thin arm wrap around his shoulders. He looked up with watery eyes to find her features contorted with rage. “Yo le corté!” she muttered. “I’m going to take those razor blades out of that plant pot in the hallway and then I’m going to slit his balls and shove them so far up his ass he can _taste_ them.”

“Santana,” Kurt implored. “ _Please_.”

“He’s going to wish he’d never even _breathed_ when I’m done.”

“Santana,” Kurt repeated, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m _okay_.”

“That’s a funny sort of okay.”

“I’m fine.” Kurt said. “Tired. I just want to go to bed.”

“It’s 9 p.m.” Santana rolled her eyes and pulled Kurt to his feet expertly, despite her smaller form and towering heels. She reached into her bag and extracted a key card. “Let’s sit down and you can tell Auntie Snix all about how we’re going to rip that hijo de puta a new asshole.”

“I couldn’t…”

“Come on, Kurt. You’re far too buzzed to take an Ambien, and the hotel’s fresh out of that green tea you like that smells like Finn’s sweaty ball sack. Judging by that look on your face, I can tell you’re pretty well-acquainted with his man funk, so we’re going to sit down, share a little hooch, and stop you looking like a blackbird that fell from its perch.”

“I left my key card in Finn’s room,” Kurt admitted. “I can’t get into _mine_.”

Instantly, Santana inserted her own key card and the door beeped open. “You’re more harassed than a naked frat boy at a Fire Island party,” she said, flicking on the lights and immediately walking over to Kurt’s suitcase. “Where _is_ this booze?” 

Kurt flopped back on the bed. “Shouldn’t you be helping Quinn?”

Santana ignored him. She extracted the bottle of bourbon and walked over to Finn’s bag, prodding it with her toe. “That’s a lot of luggage for one person.”

“You know I don’t pack light.”

“Uh huh?” Santana walked over to the chair by the dressing table. “Did you pack that Cincinnati Reds t-shirt, too?” She paused, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “You boys _drove here_ together, didn’t you? I have to know, what was that moment where he thought you were the one? A long commercial break during a family marathon of ‘Ice Road Truckers’, or Rachel’s stubble clogging the shower drain again?”

 _Screw this_. Kurt needed some liquid courage. Santana walked over to join him on the bed, and passed him the bottle of booze from Memphis. She opened it and handed it to Kurt who took a big swig, wrinkling his nose before he passed it back to her.

“You two had sex,” she said. “Don’t even deny it, because you wear exactly the same gassy infant face _he_ does when you’re guilty about something.”

“We didn’t have sex,” Kurt said, which technically wasn’t a lie.

“Oh, please.” Santana took a swig from the bottle then patted her forehead. “Psychic Mexican third eye, remember?”

“You’re from Puerto Rico.”

“Whatever. Doesn’t change the fact I’m –“

“A stone cold bitch,” Kurt finished for her. “Can you teach me your ways? I thought I was done crying over Finn Hudson’s stupidity nine years ago.”

Santana rolled over and looked at Kurt; her face glowed softly in the light of the bedside lamps, and she looked kinder than Kurt could remember. “I wouldn’t _want_ you to be cold, Kurt. You’re my _family_. That giant doof is too, as much as I’d never admit it. You have his clothes in your hotel room, and his hickies on your neck. Clearly, something went down, and denial isn’t going to help either of you come to terms with the situation.”

“It’s a mosquito bite.”

“Oh _please_ , Rizzo. You got so many hickeys you look like a leper.”

“Fine.” Kurt took another swig of the alcohol then slumped back down on the bed. “Finn had a few drinks last night, and we fooled around. He showed more love to his leftover pizza than he did to me. Happy?”

“Are _you_?” Santana said, then her gentleness vanished. “If not, at least it was only five _seconds_ of your life you wasted rather than the five _years_ you did with Blaine.”

“It was perfect,” Kurt said with an airy sigh.

“You’re crying on your own while he’s having a belching contest with Puck. That doesn’t sound perfect to _me_ , unless you’re crying over the dry cleaning bill you received when he blew his load all over your clothes the moment he dropped his dad jeans.”

Kurt took another small sip. He let the amber liquid burn the back of his throat; the warmth was a relief in the artificial, air conditioned cold which made his eyes prickle. Underneath Santana’s bark there was nothing but pure care, and he let himself fall against her body until she clasped his back a little awkwardly and pulled him into a hug.

“I want to rent a forklift,” Kurt said into her silky hair. “I want to rent a forklift, and drive him off Palo Duro Canyon.”

“Palo Duro Canyon?”

“We had a cabin there.”

“ _We?_ ” Santana laughed. “I thought it was lesbians who invested in real estate after one date. Look, I know people. And I know Finn. He can be stupid, but he’s never _cruel_.”

“He’s an idiot,” Kurt muttered.

“Well, yeah. He could have been the trophy husband of a D-list celebrity, and he passed it over to teach snotty kids when I’m surprised he even passed U.S. History, let alone found himself in a position to teach it. The guy thinks fortune cookies are American, for crying out loud.”

“They _are_ ,” Kurt said, a little tersely.

“Whatever. What I know is, he’d rather hurt himself than hurt you. I’ll ask you again, because his pigheadedness seems to be contagious; what did he actually _do_ , Kurt?”

Kurt took a deep breath. He explained to Santana how domestic Finn had been with him back home in Ohio; he spoke of the shared smiles, and shared beds, and looked away a little as he explained about the night they shared in Albuquerque. “He didn’t act like it was just a hook-up. He acted like… he wanted something _more_ , but while he says he wants _me,_ he keeps changing the subject every time I talk about my feelings. He keeps talking about New York which is _insane_ , because he didn’t even visit the place when he was twenty and thought he was lovesick for Rachel Berry.”

Santana smirked. “So, let me get this straight, you’ve _both_ been spent the past five years living with people who are completely wrong for you and it took being trapped in the Wheeled Shed of Dread for a week to realize love sneaks up on you when you least expect it to?”

“When you put it like _that_ …” Kurt sighed. “I thought he’d matured. Grown up. But Puck asked him outright if we were an item. His _oldest friend_ , who used toss me into dumpsters, gave him his unconditional support. Finn just flipped him off and went back to making fart jokes!”

“Tonto,” Santana said. She shoved lightly at Kurt’s chest. “What, you want him to put on some side-snap pants, wave a rainbow flag, and serenade you with some Dianna Ross?”

“Of course not! I just thought that he might…” Kurt trailed off.

“Gossip travels,” Santana said. “Trust me, I’m usually the one who spreads it. You tell one person, and they tell one person, and before you know it? Rachel Berry’s turning up singing Streisand.”

“You Don’t Bring Me Flowers’,” Kurt said, without pause. “But I still don’t understand why he wouldn’t own up to it, unless…” Kurt’s eyes flew open. “Santana, I’m an idiot. I was so defensive about him just wanting a hook-up that I didn’t tell him about _my_ feelings. He probably thinks it’s _me_ who just wanted a hook-up!”

“Well, duh.” Santana rolled his eyes. “I bet you twenty bucks he has a super lame romantic dinner under the stars planned out tomorrow. Look, I know he’s crazy about you, Kurt. I’ve known for a while, but it wasn’t my secret to spill.”

Kurt scoffed at her a little. “Very _mature_ of you. But we both know there’s more chance of Finn giving _up_ on apples than moving to the big one. I’m not going to pine long-distance while I wait for him to sweep me off my feet.”

“Let him find his _own_ feet.”

“He’s had ten _years_ to do that.”

“So what are you going to do?”

 “Run away to our respective coasts?”

“You already _did_ , after that camping trip you guys took the summer after he graduated from Lima U,” Santana pointed out. “It’s been, what, less than an hour since you spoke to him? I don’t understand _why_ , but you’re looking at his ugly shirt like it’s going to come over and wrap itself around you.”

“What should I do?”

“Spray that ugly shirt with Gillette Cool Wave and go to town?” Santana got up, and shot Kurt a sympathetic smile. “I’m going back to the bridal suite to finish off the Bachelorette party. Something tells me you won’t want to be there for when we play Ex-Charades.”

“Ex-Charades?”

“We take it in turns to dress up as one of Quinn’s exes and she has to guess who we are.”

Kurt raised his eyebrow. “Actually, that sounds like my kind of fun. I’ll come with,” he said, letting Santana tug him to his feet. “I’ll fill you in on… developments, but until then, this stays between us. Pinkie swear?”

 “Pinkie swear,” Santana said, as they linked digits.


	8. Chapter 8

Before long, Kurt was laughing until his stomach ached as he watched Santana, a straw-colored mop over her head, mumbling things in something that only Sam Evans himself wouldn’t realize was Na’vi. He was having so much fun that he didn’t check his phone until just gone twelve.

_You get lost on the way to the bar?_

Kurt sighed. He found himself smiling as Finn apologized, saying that he’d wanted to keep things between them while he was still working out the logistics. (Well, Finn hadn’t been quite so polysyllabic, but Kurt got the message.)

 _Hey, Hot Stuff. Puck bought my excuse about hooking-up with that girl. I’ll be over in ten_.

Against his better judgement, Kurt felt the heat spreading to the tips of his toes. He imagined Finn checking himself in the mirror, smiling at his reflection before he walked down the hallway and knocked on his door. Should he change into his pajamas? Should he stay in the suit pants Finn had loved him in earlier? He’d just tried to think of his excuse to split when his phone bleeped again.

_Puck says there’s more chance of the Bengals winning the Superbowl than me having a one-nighter._

Kurt noticed Finn had added an emoji of a yellow face with a blue drop of sweat on its head. God, that was tacky; why did Kurt find it endearing? He was just about to tell Finn that he _hoped_ that meant the Bengals were a decent team when another message arrived.

 _I had to tell him. I told him. I’m sorry. I’m a shitty liar, and I’m done lying_.

Kurt felt his heart burst. He texted back the picture of Brittany waving a fistful of dollars and eating an apple and informed Finn of their game, stating that they’d spent the past ten minutes trying to guess which ex _he_ was.

 _Puck got out his guitar. You won’t believe what he rhymed Kurt with, and he’s singing this song. Over, and over, and Quinn’s sister’s singing the Frozen soundtrack to her crying kid in the room next door. It’s like I’m in Gitmo, man_.

Quinn gave him an odd look when he placed his phone against his chest with a sigh, and they continued their exchange, Kurt swelling with love and feeling that perhaps things would work out okay, after all. He was soon back in his room, letting the sheets melt against his skin as he resolved to catch up on some sleep and save his energy for the morning. He’d need it, for the uncertainty of what would happen when they went back to their respective cities, and tried to carry on with their respective lives.

\--

The following morning, Kurt scrubbed at his eyes as Finn walked in his room. His clothes were rumpled, and he set Kurt’s wallet and key card on the bureau. He sat down on Kurt’s bed with a slight bounce. “Puck’s on his way to Vegas,” he said, proudly. “I went through his Facebook when he was pooping and found he had an ex Air Force buddy who lives just outside of Phoenix and has his own jet.”

“Ah. Invading privacy in the name of love.”

“Nobody’s privacy was invaded; Puck was too drunk to type.” Finn smiled down at Kurt. “I’m sorry, Kurt. I was an ass last night.”

Finn’s freckle-covered face looked even more kissable in the luster of the morning sun. “Oh, don’t worry. I went down to the lobby and mingled. Hooked up with Brooks _and_ his brothers.”

“Yeah right. Those guys looked like yuppie tubes of toothpaste.”

“Jealous?” Kurt fluttered his eyelashes.

“Nah.” Kurt could smell the soft mint of Finn’s mouthwash as he closed the narrow gap between them, nipping lightly at Kurt’s lower lip before he soothed it with his tongue. “They should be jealous of _me_. Even in those ugly pajama pants, you’re the hottest thing I’ve seen.” 

“Those are _Pucci_ ,” Kurt protested, his lips tingling from the mixture of minty mouthwash and delicious boy.

“ _Pukey_ , more like. They look like moldy bread.” Finn thumbed at the waistband of the offending pants. “You trying to turn me off or something?” he said, his smile lopsided as he reached the soft fabric of the underwear Kurt wore underneath. “I’d find you hot in that Lady Gaga meat dress. In fact, I think I’d find you _hotter_.”

“You are disgusting.” Kurt looped his arms around Finn’s neck. “Deplorable,” he added, rolling them over until Finn was on top of him. “Despicable, even.”

Finn stared down at him with deep, dark eyes as he kissed Kurt again. The kiss became wetter; Finn’s leg pressed between his and Kurt fisted his hands in the worn fabric of Finn’s shirt. He could hear himself moan, carnal, when Finn’s tongue lightly swirled against the tip of his. When Kurt pulled away, he was panting, Finn rubbing at his kiss-wet mouth with the pad of his thumb.

“Check-out’s in an hour,” Finn said. “We need to go. I wish we didn’t, but…”

“I’m tired of the road, and the road is tired of _me_.”

“What’ll we do? Move to Arizona and keep bees?”

Kurt fell back against the pillows. “I can’t believe this is it.”

“Me either.” Finn stroked lightly at Kurt’s bangs. “I want nothing more to spend every _night_ on the road with you. Stopping in every last tiny town, in every last state. I gotta get home, though. Maybe do some private tutoring; save up some cash before money gets tight.”

“I thought you got paid over the summer?”

“I do, just not a lot.” The bed squeaked as Finn got up. “If you want champagne and caviar, you’re with the wrong guy, but I have got _one_ more surprise for you.”

\--

Kurt reflected on Finn’s statement as he packed his bags. Finn was never going to have an urge to trade stocks, or collect Air Miles. Luxury for him was new socks, or his mom’s pot roast. Finn’s liking for the simple things became clear as he stowed the luggage in the trunk, and quickly drove them to where Arizona 89A intersected with 179. He parked up, and walked Kurt towards a small ice cream shop. The place contained a variety of tourists with lanyards around their neck proclaiming their name and tour group, but Kurt enjoyed taking slow licks at his soft-serve cone while looking at the choppy red rocks on the horizon.

“I wish there was a way to hose those tourists off the street and, like, trap them in that pyramid back in Memphis,” Finn said, slurping on his chocolate milkshake.

“We _are_ tourists,” Kurt said, noting he was stood under a statue of a bear wearing a baseball cap. “We’re the only people here who camouflage with the rocks.”

Finn laughed, and placed his hand on the small of Kurt’s back, steering him along the strip of gift shops; the scenery was more than enough to feast his eyes on. After a short walk, they returned to the truck. Finn took the wheel and drove them along a road he said ran parallel to Oak Creek Canyon. Kurt’s stomach felt a little wavy, reminding him of the vacation he’d taken to Shenandoah with his grandparents who lived in Virginia.

Of course, he’d been far more interested in reading the newest Harry Potter than he had been in the scenery, back then.

“Put some music on!” Finn said, a bright grin making his eyes twinkle as he steered them around the dusty curves.

Kurt did. The local radio had a bubbly, young-sounding female voice talking about honoring the troops, and Kurt paled. It hadn’t occurred to him that Finn would be spending one of his favorite holidays driving through faceless desert.

“It’s cool,” Finn told him. “Burt’s still in Washington, and our Fourth of July barbecue wouldn’t be the same without his potato salad.”

“I know. Watching Carole get drunk on box wine and cry over Lifetime Movie Network never gets old.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Finn turned down the volume. “I get it. You’re too _cool_ to be patriotic.”

“I’m proud of the values we’re _supposed_ to have.” Kurt adjusted the collar of his shirt; the temperature had already hit eighty five on what promised to be a _cooler_ day in the desert. “But honestly? It’s just an excuse for rednecks to drink beer, shoot the empty cans, then shove them up the butts of unfortunate chickens.”

“So what?” Finn slammed on the brakes, avoiding an errant pedestrian wearing far too much tie-dye. “I bet most people would agree plinking cans is more fun than sitting in a wine bar and discussing weird foreign movies about birds.”

“It’s not _plinking_ when your mom only lets you use the Super Soaker.”

“Shooting yourself isn’t funny,” Finn muttered, rubbing at his thigh.

“I’m sorry.” Kurt reached for Finn’s hand which was on the transmission and squeezed it gently. “Besides, chicks dig scars, right?”

They were both quiet as they continued along the road. Kurt looked to Finn who gave him a brief nod; it went unspoken that they were a little upset they’d be on their own respective coasts the next day instead of eating Burt’s potato salad and getting bone-crushing hugs from Carole. No; Kurt would get off the plane and get a cab to his apartment, and find nothing but some sugary breakfast cereal and perhaps a box of stale pastries if he was lucky.

“Puck dared me to use my scar as a pick-up line this one time,” Finn said, his voice jolting as his truck stuttered over the road’s shale. “Didn’t work. He ran away so fast I think there was a Slip ‘N Slide underneath.”

“Did you just…” Kurt blinked. Twice. “Did you just say _he_?”

Finn shrugged one shoulder, as though switching your sexuality was as fluid as the water lubricating _said_ Slip ‘N Slide. Finally, he sighed. “Everyone in college just _assumed_ I was gay, because I never really dated. This one night in my senior year, I got real lonely. It was when Rach was _saving her voice_ , and when you’d been to Rome with Blaine. You sent me this postcard saying you’d thrown a quarter in the fountain and wished that _I’d_ get some of the luck you’d had, and…”

“Fortunate isn’t the same as fornication.”

“It didn’t work. It wasn’t _guys_ I wanted. It was _you_. And I wanted to tell you so _bad_ , but in all those Skype chats we had, you and Blaine just seemed so happy. What sort of asshole would mess with that?” Finn said, as the truck passed a cowboy-themed steakhouse which Kurt suspected might be that night’s dinner venue. “I wasn’t a saint. I thought I’d made it pretty clear when I tried to kiss you on our camping trip. You brushed me off like I was dirt on your pants, so I told myself I’d do whatever I could to get you off my mind.”

“It didn’t work, did it?”

Finn said nothing. He put on the blinkers and turned into one of the side-roads, a lodge-style building soon coming into view between the tall trees and burnished rocks. Kurt looked at the scenery with rapt attention as his head bumped the roof of the truck, the ramshackle vehicle barely managing to traverse the rocky path.

\--

After a few hundred yards, Finn parked up. He opened the door on the passenger side, taking Kurt’s hand as they exited. Kurt sighed; his nose picked up on fresh pine, and his ears rippled with the babbling sounds from the nearby creek. He let go of Finn’s hand and took a few steps towards the creek, watching the water gently wind its way through the rock.

Kurt turned his head around when he heard an _oof_ and saw Finn had opened the truck, his own bag on the dusty floor.

“What are you doing?” he said, walking over. “I told you I’d booked us a place in Flagstaff!”

“Uh, this one’s better?”

Kurt jabbed Finn lightly in the chest. “It’s not another stone cabin, is it?”

“You’re _half_ right,” Finn said, and hauled his bag over his shoulder. “I told you. I got a surprise for you.”

“Do you _got_ my bags too?”

“Okay, so. It starts by asking a guy to carry your suitcase. Then, you start asking him to hold your purse on the red carpet. After that? Not much of a sliding slope until you’re a true Los Angeles diva.”

Kurt lifted up his suitcase. Carrying it would at least ensure it was safe from the rocky terrain underneath. “I could _never_ be a diva,” he said, thinking of his time interning at Vogue dot com. “If I was ever in a position to have an assistant, I’d probably carry luggage for _them_.”

\--

After picking up their keys, they took a smaller red dirt path to their cabin. “Where _are_ we?” Kurt asked, as the trees became denser and the modicum of civilization he’d seen in Sedona faded away. “Neither of us are pure enough to be a virgin sacrifice.”

“Trust me,” Finn said, as they soon approached a scatter of log cabins that fronted the peaceful creek. “You’re gonna love the place.”

“You said that about Palo Duro Canyon,” Kurt said with a huff, but the twinkle in his eyes must have showed Finn he was only kidding.

\--

The cabin, like their one back in Texas, was pleasant but humble. It wasn’t the striking opulence of the venue Quinn’s family had chosen for her wedding. It smelled like fresh air after a heavy rainstorm, and towers of white pillar candles dotted the mantelpiece of the fireplace. The canopy bed was rustic, covered with a bedding in shades of light teal, gold, and terracotta. Kurt was half-expecting a hot tub, but instead he saw there was an outdoor shower with a floor and sides crafted from local wood.

“It’s lovely, but…”

“Outside’s lovelier,” Finn said, giving Kurt a look suggesting that had been the entire point. “You ready to check out the place and do a short hike?”

\--

Kurt agreed to a very short hike, already able to feel the sweat on the backs of his knees. Finn drove them to Flagstaff, taking Route 89A. It was a slow, careful crawl, heading northeast into the woods following Oak Creek, and then passing through Slide Rock State Park. Allegedly, it was the world’s largest natural water slide. Kurt hadn’t packed his swimming trunks, and in any case, the park official informed them it was a one-in, one-out system. Instead, they drove back, ascending down the canyon before they took hairpin turns towards the Mogollon Rim, surrounded by high limestone and sandstone cliffs.

“They have their own Bigfoot, here.” Finn waggled his fingers in front of Kurt’s face with his hand not on the transmission. “The Mogollan Monster.”

“Better not get out, then. Last thing all these tourists need is a sighing.”

“For the record, we have the same shoe size.” The truck stuttered a little as Finn decelerated. “And you have _way_ hairier feet.”

Kurt reached for his phone, amazed he had signal out here. He looked up the Mogollan Monster on Wikipedia. “He’s described as somewhat violent. He enjoys exploring campsites after dark, and lets off a blood-curdling scream sounding like a woman in distress,” Kurt said. “Sounds a lot more like you, Finn.”

Finn flipped him off, then continued to drive them towards Flagstaff. They soon reached the small town, stopping at a small mom and pop café that served them a snack of homemade bagels and fresh fruit salad. They both stretched their legs, looking up at the tall trees in the distance and the mountain peaks that looked as though they were dusted with moss.

\--

It wasn’t like Kurt to have itchy legs, but he wanted to explore at least some of the scenery. They drove back the same way, stopping off to tackle what the Internet had informed them was a relatively steady trail along the west fork of Oak Creek. It began in a meadow kissed by the late afternoon sun, and led them through shady groves that kept them cooler than they had a right to be. The sun beat down relentlessly, but Kurt found himself walking a few strides in front of Finn, tilting up the brim of his hat to take in the otherworldly red rock formations that flanked the crystal creek.

“Son of a –“

Kurt turned around to see Finn stooping a little, his face contorted as he walked over a particularly rocky patch of ground. “Your leg?” he said quietly, walking back until he was by Finn’s side.

“It’s nothing. My butt just gets numb when I walk uphill, sometimes.”

Decisively, Kurt placed his hand on the small of Finn’s back. It was clammy with sweat. He smiled up at Finn and gently steered them back down the trail.

\--

They drove back under an early evening sun that was still warm, but less intense than the heat of the day. By the time they’d reached the vista at Midgley Bridge, the sun was low on the horizon. It would be dark by nine, perhaps, Kurt assumed; much earlier than back in New York. When they passed over the bridge, Finn turned into a parking lot just to its left. Kurt got out and peered over his shoulder as Finn exited the truck and fumbled for something in the truck, extracting what looked like a camera bag.

Kurt licked his lips as he watched Finn fiddle with the kit. He placed the strap over his shoulder and took out his camera, twisting the lens about like a pro. The Nikon had to be worth a thousand bucks, easily. "You're a photographer? Since when?"

Finn turned around, scoping the scenery. “Mom got me an entry-level DSLR around the time of my 19th birthday. There wasn’t exactly a whole lot to photograph in Lima, but getting out there kinda helped, in its own way.”

"I feel the same way about writing," Kurt said. He watched Finn kneel on the ground and aim his camera at the skyline; the wisps of salmon and gold were beginning to emerge in the cerulean sky. The dusky rock looked illuminated, and Kurt sighed, knowing the photographs could never match the reality.

“I missed you so much back then,” Finn said.

“I wish I’d known how bad things were for you. By the time I visited you after the break-up, you’d hit your stride directing ‘Grease’, and started college. You’d never seemed happier.”

Finn took a few snaps, then slowly stood up. “I forgot about photography until I moved out to L.A. I hated all the sprawl, so I’d take off to Altadena, or Runyon Canyon, or the West Griffith Observatory. I love it, because you just point and click. Stress-free.” Finn handed his camera to Kurt. “Give it a go.”

The black case felt overly heavy in his hand. Finn wrapped his arms around Kurt, and then pointed in front of him, talking about framing the photo in your mind before framing it in the viewfinder, but Kurt turned away after taking a few snaps. “I’ll pass,” he said. “It’s a tall task, doing this view justice.”

Finn took the camera back and took a few more photos as they walked towards the metal railing, the thin barrier the only thing that separated them from the vista. Kurt let his mind drift, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his palm. He felt Finn’s arm wrap around him and willed his brain never to forget the moment before they headed back to the truck.

\--

They arrived back at the cabin around fifteen minutes later. The light was lower, now, and it was harder to make their way down the red dirt path without tripping over their feet. They set down their day bags, and Finn immediately went to the small fridge in the room for two bottles of water.

“My neck’s so sore from looking up all the time,” Finn said.

“Now you know how the _rest_ of us feel.” Kurt sighed. “I loved how we were just winding and twisting down that road. Every time I turned a corner, I thought that the view would stay the same, but it didn’t. It was incredible. I can’t even fathom how the Grand Canyon would have been.”

“I feel like Blaine,” Finn said. He walked out to the patio. “Taking you to all those difference places, on all these different days.”

“It’s not about the places, Finn. It’s about the _company_.”

Kurt joined him on the chairs outside. The cabin fronted the creek, and the peaceful sounds washed over Kurt as the water rippled over the rocks. He spent some time flicking through Finn’s camera; Kurt was surprised how many photos were on there. There was one of St. Louis, the sun overhead, with the Gateway Arch cradled between the buildings either side. The next was a portrait of a pretty girl about his age padding a boat in what looked like a mall. Kurt glared. Why had Finn not informed Kurt that St. Louis had indoor paddleboats on a sticky, humid day?

 _Because you drank too much cheap red wine and faked a headache_?

Kurt smiled as he saw the photos Finn had taken of his day spent hiking in Santa Fe. The mountains were impressive, flanked by wispy cotton wool clouds. Finn certainly had an eye for detail when it came to capturing the landscape. When it came to portraits, however…

“Delete this _now_ ,” Kurt said, horrified at the portrait of _him_. He wore a gummy smile and the hat he wore made him look like he’d face-planted into a flowerpot.

“Not a chance.” Finn was so resolute that Kurt startled a little, dropping the camera down into his lap. “A few hundred years ago, it took people _hours_ to sit for photos because the exposure was so long. That’s why they look so stern and stiff. If I’d _told_ you I was taking your picture, you’d look all fixed like a museum statute. You look _gorgeous_ , so deal with it.”

Kurt took a sip of his water, not knowing what to do with the compliment. “Are we going to watch the sunset here?”

“I wanted to take you to the Airport Mesa. There’s this loop trail that goes all the way around. It’s supposed to be the best view in all of Sedona, but by the time we’d made our way back, it would be too late to eat.”

“Yeah.” Kurt sighed. It seemed surreal that in less than twenty four hours, he’d be on a plane heading back to New York. “What time are we leaving tomorrow.”

“No later than five.”

“Then can I get you a drink?”

“Hm.” Finn seemed to consider his options. “Is it super lame if I just have a coke?”

Kurt walked back into the cabin, getting them a can each from the stocked mini fridge. He poured their drinks into the highball glasses he found in the kitchen area, and added a small amount of the bourbon they’d picked up in Memphis to his own. It was probably against all rules of drinking the stuff, but then, he _was_ from Ohio. He added ice to Finn’s glass and walked back to the patio, handing Finn his drink. The temperature was still in the eighties, but the lack of humidity was unfamiliar. He didn’t realize how soon it cooled off in the mountains.

“Thanks, man.” Finn had moved from the chair and stood by the fence, which was all that separated them from the forest in front of them, and the rocky ground below. “You want me to go change into something a little less Roy Rogers?”

Kurt took a sip of his drink, and stared at Finn’s broad back. His stomach felt icy, but his throat was warm; it was a strange combination. Mentally, he planned his outfit, thinking his black jeans and red shirt would be classy but effective. Finn, though, wasn’t touching his drink. He seemed rooted to the spot, and Kurt watched his shoulders shift.

“Hey, Cowboy.” Kurt walked over to the fence and placed his hands on the rail, feeling warm wood under his hands. “What’s on your mind?”

Finn reached into his pocket then turned around. He extracted his phone and showed Kurt a photo message. It was of Puck, with his arm around Quinn. They held up their hands to the camera, showing off the cheap-looking gold-colored bands on their fingers. “Look at them,” Finn said softly. “They’re both so _happy_.”

“I hear marriage is supposed to do that.”

Finn huffed out a breath. “I want that look on _my_ face. I think the last time was, like, when I was just a kid and we were dancing together at mom and Burt’s wedding. I remember going to bed that night and I felt like a freaking rock star. And, I kind of _was_. I was captain of Glee, and Quarterback. The most talented girl in school was hanging on my every word. It was like I was king of the world, and now…” Finn put his phone back in his pocket. “My life’s not a bad one. Sure, I don’t play football and I don’t sing, but I got a job that pays okay and I’m good at it, too. So why the hell can’t I stop thinking about my seventeen year-old self, and how bummed he’ll be I’m about to throw it all away.”

“Throw _what_ away?” Kurt said, looking down at the patio.

“Everything I thought was my life?”

“Rachel will still be in love with you when she’s _ninety_ ,” Kurt said. The scenery was mocking him now; tall trees and taller mountains were for holding hands and cuddling up. They were for beginnings, not endings. “You _know_ that.”

“Yeah, but will _you_?”

“How can you even _ask_ me that? I’ve been attracted to you since I was _fifteen.”_

“Then why are you acting like I’m some summer fling!” Finn stepped back, clutching the rail of the fence so hard his knuckles turned white. “You should have told me the moment things went sour with Blaine; you should have let me in. All you’ve done since you served him those papers is avoid my calls, spend every waking hour writing weird short stories about a guy who thinks he’s a shoe, and eating peanut butter from the jar!”

“Maybe I didn’t want to tell you because I knew, deep down, we live two thousand miles away. Okay, so you're into guys, but we’re _brothers._ There's no conceivable chance this could ever be anything but a hook-up for you."

“You think this is just about hooking up?” Finn raised his voice as he paced over to the patio table, taking a large sip of Kurt’s drink. “This isn’t about sex. This is about this big, goddamn _something_ that’s been there between us for ten years and don’t you get it? I’m in love with you. That’s not gonna go away, whether I’m in Lima, or Los Angeles, or wherever the hell I choose to be.”

“We’re _family_ ,” Kurt said, quietly. “That’s not going to go away, either.”

Finn looked up with wet eyes; Kurt expected him to cry, messy and raw. He often did when he couldn’t find the words to express his emotions. Instead, his eyes turned dark, and his brows framed them as he punched his fist down on a wrought iron patio chair. Kurt knew that look; it was the one Finn wore before he swung the first punch, or before slashing the tires of a rival show choir group’s Land Rovers.

“That’s what we _are_ ,” Kurt said. He stayed where he was; he knew Finn would never lay a hand on him, but wanted to give him space. “That means a _unit_ ,” Kurt offered. “Facing things together. Being _honest_ with each other. And I don’t think you’re being honest with _me_.”

“Puck was right,” Finn muttered. “This _is_ some scary shit.”

Kurt walked over to Finn. He crouched down and examined Finn’s hand in his, lightly running his fingers over the grazed skin from where he’d punched the chair. “I never wanted to fall for you,” he confessed. “But I did.”

Finn nodded his assent, unspoken. He let Kurt tug him to his feet this time, and they walked back across to the fence to watch the sun dip below the horizon. Finn’s posture was open, and Kurt allowed himself to be embraced, letting Finn cradle his head against his chest. “I didn’t _want_ to be an us,” he admitted. “I tried everything to get you off my mind. I gave it my best shot with a girl who wrote an album of _songs_ about me, a girl who wanted to _marry_ me, and none of that means a damn thing compared to sitting on those steps and watching the stars with you.” 

“Oh Finn.” Kurt placed his palm against Finn’s cheek, turning him in for a kiss. “Is _that_ your surprise? That you’re in love with me?”

“Uh, not quite.” Finn smiled down at Kurt. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to be a hundred percent sure that it was the right thing for me. For _us._ ” Finn put his hand in his pocket, his eyes darting away from Kurt’s. Please, don’t be mad. If you think it’s a bad idea, be honest. Okay?”

“This had better not be another surprise proposal,” Kurt said. He placed his hand against his chest, which felt like leaves being blown about in a gentle breeze. While he doubted _that_ was what Finn had in mind, he was suffused with warmth rather than the gnawing unease he’d felt when he’d got wind Blaine was going to pop the question.

Finn didn’t extract a ring box or get down on one knee, though.

“I want you to read this,” Finn said, a little shyly, as he handed Kurt his phone.

“Dear Mr. Hudson,” Kurt said. “Oh my _god_. You sound, like, _fifty_. Is this…”

“Shut up.” Finn poked the tip of Kurt’s nose as he bounced a little on his feet. “Just read the damn thing.”

“It is with the deepest pleasure that I inform you that you have been accepted for the Masters of –“ Kurt’s mouth hung upon, and the warmth inside him spread into every single cell. “Oh my goodness, a college acceptance letter? You’re going back to school?”

“Uh, Kurt? Look at the top of the letter.”

“This is from…” Kurt felt a little woozy, his warmth giving way to dizziness. “Pace University? You _jerk_!” He swatted Finn on his shoulder. “You put me through all this when you’d known you were going to move to New York for months!”

Finn stared at his grazed fist like it was a war wound. “You gotta admit, you did a pretty bad job at letting me know you liked me. And the last time we were together for more than a weekend, it didn’t quite go down like this. Forgive me for thinking with my head and not my heart for once in my sorry existence.”

“You have a point,” Kurt admitted. “So you finally realized you’re big enough for New York, eh? Where will you stay?”

“Grad dorms?”

“Oh, please. We both know on-campus housing is rarer than a virgin in a frat house. Where are you _really_ going to stay?”

“Your bed’s big enough for two, isn’t it?”

“You arrogant, beautiful man!” Kurt said, unsure whether to kiss Finn, slap him, or do both simultaneously. “So, School Psychology. You’re going to study the fine art of handing out pamphlets and covering all the door handles with Purell?”

“It’s not like being a guidance counselor. It’s not about telling kids to wear sunglasses to look popular, and handing out brochures to colleges they don’t want to attend. It’s about giving them the skills to cope, when they need it the most.”

“Mm. I’d like a long, comfortable session in _your_ private office. Will you be wearing suit jackets with jeans?”

“For sure. Figured I’d grow an old guy beard, too.” Finn turned away a little, Kurt able to hear him swallow. “What do you think? Honestly?”

“I think it’s _perfect_.” Kurt threw his arms around Finn. “I can have you for what, three years?”

“You can have me for as long as you want me,” Finn said. “I promise. We beat so much to even get _this_ far that the rest will be a breeze. It’s not gonna be easy, but I’ll do my best to make sure it’s okay.”

Kurt nodded, as they both paused to take in the soft rustling of the creek. They watched the sunset together, cotton candy-colored wisps flecking the turquoise blanket of sky. The clouds soon grew darker, turning a deep lilac, and Kurt savored the sounds of their breaths and those of the forest around him. He felt like he could take on the world right now, and he learned in to kiss Finn in the last of the golden sun, realizing there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be.

\--

Finn and Kurt left for the restaurant a little before nine, Finn explaining they didn’t have any earlier reservations. He looked a little strange, wearing suit pants and a decently-ironed shirt, but carrying a flashlight in his hand. With his other hand, he reached for Kurt’s, weaving their fingers together.

“You look incredible. Ready to go?”

Kurt looked in the mirror, smiling at his tidy hair and dewy skin. “Go _where_ ,” he said, adjusting the horse head pin on the collar of his shirt. “Why do you have a flashlight?”

“Reasons,” Finn said, then thumbed the pin. “Will you please take that off? I adore the way you dress, but I swear that horse was probably the last thing someone's grandma touched before she took her last breath and face-planted into her cream of wheat.”

“Don’t listen to him, Gertie.”

Finn patted the pin himself, then gave Kurt a quick kiss before they walked out of the cabin and down a different path to the one they’d taken earlier. The sunset was hidden by the trees, and he soon saw the reason for the flashlight at the skies quickly darkened around them. Soon, there were as many stars visible in the sky as there had been back at the cabin in Palo Duro Canyon.

“Is there _really_ a place to eat, or is this an elaborate kidnapping plot.”

“Trust me, Kurt.”

“I _do_.” Kurt poked him in the butt. “I’m a little frightened at what might await considering you managed to hide New York from me for several months. Let’s just say I won’t play poker with you any time soon.

“Not even _strip_ poker?”

“Not even _that_ ,” Kurt said, the scratch of rubble not entirely pleasant under his dress shoes.

\--

It felt an age as they walked through the forest, but Finn informed him it had only been twenty minutes. He pointed towards a softly-lit building which turned out to be their restaurant. Their waiter led them to a table for two, set back from the larger parties of restaurant-goers. The table was under a canopy of cottonwood and sycamore trees, affording them privacy. Their waiter soon came over to introduce himself, bringing waters and a basket of freshly-baked bread. One of Finn’s hands rested on the menu, but his eyes weren’t taking it in; he reached under the table with his other hand and gave Kurt’s thigh a gentle squeeze.

“You didn’t have to,” Kurt said, knowing from the attentive service it wasn’t a cheap option. “You know I’d have been just as happy drinking a margarita from a glass shaped like a cactus.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t.” Finn’s eyes darted down to the menu. “I know nothing about this stuff,” he confessed. “What the hell is a grelot?”

Kurt sighed; he’d have been just as happy with some tacos. Finn was so out of his depth he was drowning, asking questions about every single item listed. Finally, he threw the menu down on the table with a thud, telling Kurt to order for him while he went to the bathroom. Before long, Finn’s Filet Mignon had arrived. He stared at Kurt, a little horrified, when he moved to refill their wine and the waiter appeared out of nowhere to do the honors.

“Imagine if this was our first date,” Finn said. He took a sip of wine and didn’t look too repulsed when he swallowed his mouthful. “Like, two guys. Meeting for the first time.”

“I know exactly how you like your steak,” Kurt pointed out. “We’re clearly _not_.”

“We _could_ be.” Finn’s knife slipped through his steak effortlessly. “I could be, like, this ordinary guy who pulled into a diner for some lemonade and a slice of pie and saw this guy next to me. He’s reading a book that looks all arty, and his hair is perfect even though it’s a hundred degrees out, and I think – dude. This one's _it_ for me.”

The sensation of seltzer bubbled in Kurt’s gut. It made him flash back to the stalactites when they were in the caverns in Missouri only a week ago. It was the beginning of what had been far more of an adventure than he’d ever anticipated. When he looked across the table to meet Finn’s eyes, cheekbones high and smile gentle in the candlelight, realization hit him like a sudden, sharp beam of light.

This was easy; effortless. This was what love was supposed to _be_.

 “So you’d say hello to this mysterious stranger?” Kurt said, wanting some levity. It was a little too much, somehow.

“Probably not. I’d be too busy eating my pie and wondering about the fluids to rest stops ratio for the rest of my drive.”

“What _is_ this,” Kurt laughed. “Brokeback Bladder?”

“Oh god. That movie’s even more depressing than the shooting script Rachel brought home when she did the pilot of that Joanie Loves Chachi remake.”

“Anyway. Strangers in a diner.” Kurt took a bite of his rabbit. “Where are we going with this?”

Finn sighed. “I’m going with the fact that pretending is easier, because you know there are going to be people who have a huge problem with this. With _us_. And I know it’s their problem. I’m not afraid, but that doesn’t make me feel any less scared, you know?”

Kurt nodded. “I understand. It’ll change the way people think about us, Finn.”

“Since when did you care what people thought about you?”

“I don’t care what they think about _me_ , but… I want this. I want _you_. I’m just frightened about what people might say to my dad.” Kurt turned his hands over and examined his nails. They’d dug so sharply into his skin that the flesh of his palm was marred with silvery crescents. “I thought about you a lot. I suppose I didn’t think about the ramifications.”

“Me either.” Finn chewed on his steak, looking a little thoughtful. “Look, anything we do is going to piss off _someone_. I’m content to do what makes us happiest, if you are.”

Kurt took a long sip of his wine. “You’re very glass half-full, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think I’d be here right now if I wasn’t.” Then, Finn smiled. “So if your father _is_ gonna shoot me with his .45, at least tell him to aim at the other thigh, would you?”

“Carole would be a far better shot than my dad.”

“True,” Finn muttered. “But something tells me she’d actually be pretty okay with all of this and I think your dad would be, too. Every single speech he gave you when you were with Blaine was about taking chances, right?

Kurt reached under the table and put his hand over Finn’s. “I know what my _mother_ would have said. She’d have said, ‘In the end, what we regret most are the chances we never took’. I don’t want to regret, Finn. Life’s too short.”

“Your mom was wise; I get what Burt means when he says she lives on in you.”

“Oh, it’s a quote from this old show called Frasier she used to watch, but…” Kurt reached for his wineglass and raised it in a toast to Finn’s. “Here’s to taking chances.”

Finn clinked his glass with Kurt’s for what they knew would be the last time on their trip. Soon, they’d finished their meals. The waiter took their plates away, and Kurt found he had little appetite for his crème brûlée. Finn’s hand rested on his lower thigh before his thumb gently brushed the inseam of his dress pants. Finn tried to look poker-faced as he ate his chocolate soufflé but his eyes sparkled; it was the same look he’d given Kurt at Nettle Lake all those years ago.

“I can’t wait to get you back to our cabin,” Finn whispered, his voice low enough the hair on the back of Kurt’s neck prickled.

Kurt ran his finger around the rim of his glass, his stomach knotting in on itself. “And play poker?”

Finn’s thumb played a little higher up, tracing the edge of Kurt’s cock. “And take care of you like I’ve wanted to for years,” he said, looking almost sweet as he took the last spoonful of his soufflé and offered it to Kurt.

\--

Finn’s flashlight barely illuminated the route as they made their way back to the cabin, pausing to steal gentle kisses and take in the stars on the way. Kurt let Finn thumb the material at the back of his shirt. He felt precious. _Valuable._ Wordlessly, Finn led him through the door of the cabin and shrugged off his shirt, leaving him in just his undershirt as they both walked out to the patio. They kissed, slow and soft, until Finn pulled away.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Finn admitted. He chewed on his lower lip, more hesitant than he’d been back at the bar when he’d kissed Kurt for the first time.

Kurt decided to start with a kiss. He reached for Finn’s hand and led them over to the balcony, taking in the stars and mountains before Finn kissed him again, so deep and wet it muted the sounds from the creek ahead. Pulling away, Kurt rubbed his thumb against Finn’s lips. The skin there was a little chapped, the flesh dark pink in the darkness of the night. Kurt traced his thumb down to Finn’s jaw, feeling the flesh warm beneath his touch. He savored the echo of his strong pulse.

Soon, Finn kissed his forehead. He was gentle, tilting his body back until he was pressed against the fence, and let Kurt set the pace as he pressed his body against his. Finn began to pant, urgent; he fisted his hand in Kurt’s shirt and untucked it. Kurt whined low in his throat, and when their lips met again, the clash of their lips caused Kurt to taste the acid tang of the wine they’d been drinking. It mingled with Finn’s natural taste, and Kurt’s lips grew slicker, wanting to crawl inside him.

“Oh, _mm_ ,” Kurt managed to say, Finn mouthing gently at his jaw. It was so perfect that it was like something from a cheesy romantic comedy. The image of Finn being a teenager at his ridiculous kissing booth popped in his head, and Kurt giggled, breaking the contact in a way that slid Finn’s lips down to his chin. “I’m sorry,” Kurt admitted, shaking his head a little.

“I will _never_ understand you, Kurt Hummel.”

“Good job you’re a faster learner than you used to be,” Kurt quipped. “You’re –“ his speech was cut short when Finn nipped just below his jaw, and his eyes rolled up in his head until he saw the stars freckling the night sky.

“You want to take this indoors?”

“I’ll die if I don’t,” Kurt said.

Finn’s eyes were hooded, desire painted over his body. Kurt shivered a little; he never thought he’d be on the receiving end of that look. It was the one Finn wore when he’d sung Doors songs, and the crowd in the hallways at school had parted like the Red Sea for him. He let Kurt take his hand and they walked back inside. Finn extracted a lighter from one of the drawers and lit the pillar candles by the fireplace, his eyes the color of the raw honey they’d picked up from a roadside stall back in Arkansas.

Undoing his shoes, Kurt sat down on the bed. He placed the heels of his hands on the mattress and pushed back until he was in the center, back against the headboard. Slowly, he undid the top button of his shirt and smiled when Finn got on the bed and leaned over, gently sucking at his jaw while he fumbled to undo Kurt’s shirt buttons. Finn released his mouth with a wet pop, kissing the skin as he went.

Soon, he was kneeling between Kurt’s spread legs and kissing him deep, one hand solid on Kurt’s hipbone. “You lost a button,” Finn commented, tugging the arms of the shirt loose from Kurt’s skin.

“No.” Kurt placed his hands on Finn’s shoulders. “ _You_ lost _my_ button,” he said, drawing Finn back in for a quick kiss. “How clumsy of you.”

“Clumsy old me,” Finn echoed.

Kurt looked at him. He knew Finn was in love with him, but he didn’t know how far it would go. He didn’t know how far Finn would have _wanted_ to go. When Finn’s hand brushed the front of his pants, Kurt’s hips tilted on instinct and his eyes fluttered closed. He wasn’t quite sure how, but he managed to shrug his shirt off using just his arm. He felt Finn tug the other by the cuff, then felt the breeze from the open patio door hit his bare skin when Finn lifted Kurt’s undershirt up and over his head.

Swiftly, Finn pressed Kurt’s chest down on the bed. They writhed together, Finn’s undershirt tugging a little against Kurt’s bare skin, turning and intertwining until Kurt was on top. Moaning into Finn’s mouth, Kurt clutched at Finn’s back like he was a life preserver, feeling the worn leather fabric of his belt.

“ _Please_ ,” Finn said, and Kurt pulled at the waistband of Finn’s pants a little before he unbuckled it slowly, shucking the belt. “God, you’re so beautiful,” Finn said, as Kurt’s fingers traced the zipper of his pants. He touched his hand to Kurt’s chest, just to the left of his heart. “You’re just _gorgeous_. How your skin’s, like, the color of cream, and you have that cute little mole just below your ribs.”

Kurt smiled down at him, and let Finn’s hands settle on his hips. “You’re not half bad yourself.”

“Really?” Finn rolled away a little and stood up, his unbuckled pants falling to the ground. Finn stepped out of them, then sat down on the bed to take off his socks. “Can I give you a backrub, maybe, or…?”

Shaking his head, Kurt wiggled out of his own pants and socks, tossing them unceremoniously on the floor beside his ruined shirt. He left his underwear on and shuffled himself back up the bed until his head met the soft, plush pillows. He’d been turned on since the restaurant and hard enough he ached since they’d kissed on the balcony. Now, he was almost sore, the front of his underwear damp as he strained against the fabric of his briefs. He wanted slow; soft and sensual, but his body had other ideas the moment he rolled over to the bed and looked at Finn who stood in front of him.

“Come back here with me,” Kurt said, taking in the view. He’d seen Finn wearing less that this when they’d gone swimming together as kids, and even from the shirts and skins games he played with his friends from high school.

That didn’t mean he was used to it, though; he traced the sparse brown hair on Finn’s chest until it thickened a little, settling his fingers just above the waistband of his boxers.

“Kurt. _Please_. I want…” Finn looked down at him with dark, wet eyes as Kurt breathed out, still thumbing his waistband.

“Tell me what I can do,” Kurt said. He placed his other hand on Finn's hip. “I want you to be comfortable.”

Finn chuckled a little. “I’ve never been more comfortable in my _life_ ,” he said, the bed rolling as he flopped back down on it. He looped his arms around Kurt’s back until they were kissing again, shifting their bodies so they faced each other. Slowly, Finn ran his hand up Kurt’s leg, from his kneecap to his upper thigh. Finn kept his nails short, but they scratched lightly as they played with the edge of Kurt’s briefs. “I think you’d be more comfortable if these came off,” he said, his smile so wide the corner of his eyes crinkled.

Kurt reached up, tracing Finn’s cheek dimple with the tips of his fingers.  The position didn’t allow Kurt much room to maneuver. He reached down to cup FInn’s ass. He pulled their bodies together, and moaned at the jolt that made his thighs tingle when their bodies met. Finn’s body was strong enough to hold him in place as they ground together until Kurt could feel the sweat at the small of his back, panting into the soft space between Finn’s neck and shoulder.

“Will you let me try something?” Finn whispered in his ear.

“Anything,” Kurt moaned, his cock meeting Finn’s flesh. “Anything you want.”

Finn’s knee pressed hard against Kurt’s erection, gently nudging his legs apart. “So it’s cool if I blow you?”

“You’re seriously asking permission?” Kurt said. He bit down on his lower lip so hard he swore it might split in two.

Finn nodded, his knee unyielding.

“God _yes_ ,” Kurt said, wondering if Finn could hear the need in the shake of his voice as he let Finn pull his body away a little, widening the vee of his legs on his own accord. Finn’s fingers skimmed the outline of his cock through his briefs, then traced the inner edges of his thighs, getting him used to being touched again in that way. “It’s been a while, Finn. I might --”

“Ssh,” Finn said, breathing out the word through his mouth, his exhale hitting Kurt’s skin as he moved his head down. “You are so fucking _hot_ ,” he said, pressing kisses against Kurt’s cheek; his jaw; his chest. Kurt focused on his own breathing, and the gentle noise the curtains made as they fluttered against the patio doors. The cooler air hit his skin, and he let Finn kiss the breath out of him as he closed his eyes and clenched his hands in the sheet. Finn’s hand slipped just below the elastic of Kurt’s briefs, not touching him where he needed it the most. He let go with a tight snap that made Kurt giggle lightly and groan at the same time.

“Take them _off_ ,” Kurt said, the ruined, damp fabric itching against him. “Finn, take the damn things off. Throw them off the balcony for all I care, I --”

“Mm?” Finn’s mouth was sinfully wet as he kissed gently at Kurt’s outer thighs. When Kurt opened his eyes, Finn’s met his. He licked his upper lip then placed a slow, deliberate kiss against the fabric covering the head of Kurt’s cock. “Nope,” he said, running his thumb across the waistband, repeating the motion until Kurt’s shoulders shook.

“Finn.” Kurt rolled his hips up and reached for Finn’s hair, tugging his hands through the thick strands. “ _Finn_.”

“Nuh uh,” Finn breathed out, tracing his fingers over and around the insides of Kurt’s thighs. When Kurt looked down, he could see the rise and fall of his own stomach as Finn slowly pulled back the fabric of his underwear. Finn’s eyes sparkled as he looked down at Kurt’s exposed skin, then back up at Kurt’s face. “Patient is a virtue, Kurt.”

Kurt knew he wasn’t going to win this one. “ _You’re_ a virtue. Do it, fucking _do_ it,” he said, clenching his hands tightly in the sheets. His whole body shook to its foundations when a breeze from the open door hit the tip of his dick, already shiny and wet. _“Please_.”

There was an almost boyish quality to Finn’s grin. He traced his fingers through the coarse hair leading down the crease of Kurt’s thigh. “Do what?” he said, sugar sweet, his fingers inching ever-closer to Kurt’s cock.

Kurt whined. It was high, needy; he felt it in the back of his throat as he felt Finn’s cheek resting on his upper thigh, his warm breath dancing lightly against his skin. “What you said you were going to do. Please, just do it already!”

Deftly, Finn gripped the base of Kurt’s dick, his other hand on the knob of bone above Kurt’s hip. Kurt watched him extend his tongue, pink and long, as he took a flat lick at his leaking tip. Kurt could feel the vibrations from Finn when he moaned low in his throat and took another lick, less hesitant. The vibrations hit the base of Kurt’s spine when Finn took him inside his lusciously wet mouth. He repeated the moment, tightening his grip on the base as he sucked and tasted.

“Oh, _god_ , that’s good, that’s so good.”

Finn was quiet, sucking him down with wet moans, and Kurt was glad that Finn’s hand was on his hip, holding him back; he didn’t want to thrust deep. He wanted Finn to be in control the first time he did this. He took in the sight, dancing his fingers across Finn’s hollowed cheek.

Pulling off with a squeaky pop, Finn’s eyebrows scrunched. He squinted a little when Kurt’s dick left a wet, shiny smear across his cheek. “You taste amazing,” he said, closing his eyes when Kurt’s fingers gently rubbed the wetness into his skin.

“More,” Kurt said. He tugged his hands through Finn’s hair, painting, turning the thick locks into a scattered mess.

Already, Kurt could feel the heat spreading up through his abdomen. This was _Finn_ , his jaw working to make him fall apart; Kurt could see the outline of his cock as it bumped against the smooth, slick surface of Finn’s inner cheek. Swallowing, Finn relaxed his throat, taking him down further. His hand let go of the base and he held Kurt’s thighs apart with both his hands, spreading his legs wider. His cheeks were blotchy, a blush-red that spread down the column of his throat, and his eyes remained closed as his lower body rubbed against the sheets, and Kurt wouldn’t have looked away if you’d paid him a thousand dollars. He rubbed at the outline of Finn’s mouth, watching it stretch around his length.

The next time Finn pulled off, Kurt rubbed delicately at Finn’s lips. He wanted to say he was sorry, and gently tilted his fingers under Finn’s jaw, smiling down at him. Finn gave him a soft smile of thanks, then used his tongue to stroke up the length in long sweeps before he held his tongue rigid and flicked over his tip again, and again. His hand curled, twisting at the base as his nose wrinkled at the bitter, new taste of the liquid pooling at the head of Kurt’s cock.

“I’m -- _oh_ \-- so close,” Kurt groaned. Heat coiled in his stomach, spreading down over his thighs and up to his heart. “Is this what you want from me?”

“It’s a pretty good start,” Finn said, smirking up at him, then he continued to taste. He licked his lips and slipped them, plump and wet, over the head of Kurt’s cock, saliva pooling down at the base. It was sloppy; unpracticed, and occasionally there was a scrape from the tips of Finn’s teeth, or his grip was a little too hard, but Kurt had never been so turned on by him. The moment Kurt’s hips canted on their own accord, he grabbed hard at Finn’s head, using all the willpower he could muster to push it away.

Immediately, Finn looked at him with wet, rosy lips and a creased brow. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing. You’re _perfect_.” Kurt exhaled, the tip of his dick wet and sticky as it rested just below his navel. “I just… I want you inside me.”

“You do?” Finn seemed to stutter over the words. He averted his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I _want_ to feel you. I want to feel it tomorrow morning, when I’m on that stupid plane, when I’m back in my apartment, missing you like crazy. I want your hands holding my hips, and your gorgeous mouth biting down on my shoulder. I want to feel you _everywhere_.”

Finn’s smile wavered a little before it became brighter. His hand rested over where Kurt’s heart thumped heavily in his chest. He looked deep into Kurt’s eyes, almost as though he were searching for any other answers. “I’d love that,” he admitted. He looked away again. “I just thought, you might want _me_ to… I mean, I didn’t assume you were the _girl_.”

“Let me guess, it was the blow job that clued you in?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Finn swatted lightly at Kurt’s hip. “I just meant that I’m happy to, you know, if you wanted to do things the other way.” Biting down on his lip, Finn skimmed his fingers down the crease of Kurt’s thigh, resting just below his balls. “Have you got…?”

“In my washbag.”

“And we have enough? ‘Cause I read it takes a _lot_.”

Kurt nodded. Reluctantly, he excused himself and went to the bathroom. He found what he was looking for in his washbag, and brought it back out along with the square box of tissues above the sink. When he walked back to the room, he saw that Finn’s plain gray boxer shorts had joined the clothes pile on the floor. Finn himself rested under the bedsheets, which barely provided any contrast against his pale skin. When Kurt slid in next to him, he felt a little shy, leaning in for a kiss that was chaster than what they’d experienced earlier. That was, until he tasted himself on Finn’s tongue and rolled on top of Finn, feeling Finn’s hands clutch as his ass.

Finn’s fingers skimmed down the cleft, tentative. His breath was audible as it quickened. Kurt rolled all the way onto his stomach, folding his hands under his chin. He heard the sheets rustle, and heard the quiet snick of a cap opening, feeling Finn’s knuckles rub gently at the base of his spine.

“You won’t hurt me,” Kurt reassured him. He wished he could have seen Finn’s face, but knew the position would make it easier for them both. He sighed into the pillow as he felt Finn’s finger, slick and cold, travel smoothly down his crack. There was a pause, and Finn exhaled before he slid just the tip inside. Kurt wriggled back on it, letting it go a little deeper until Finn was moving it slowly in and out, gently mouthing at the back of Kurt’s shoulders with the tips of his teeth. Soon, Kurt felt himself yield, and didn’t need to ask Finn to add another, slowly stretching him out.

Already, Kurt felt deliciously full. He whimpered when Finn removed his long, thick fingers and gently whispered to Kurt that he should turn over. Kurt did, and watched Finn wipe his fingers off on the sheets.

“How do you want to do this?” Kurt said, lightly stroking Finn’s shoulder. “Do you want to get on top of me?”

“Can you kneel on top of me?” Finn said, and Kurt didn’t need to be asked twice, shifting himself until he knelt on either side of Finn’s thighs. “God, you look amazing like that.”

Kurt smiled down at him. He rolled his hips a little, Finn’s own tilting up to meet his. He reached for the lube and poured a generous amount into his hand. He lifted off just enough so he could reach around to slick Finn’s length; his thumb and forefinger barely fitted around it. He pumped gently until the lube dripped down Finn’s shaft and onto the sheets underneath. Finn’s mouth widened, slackly open as he stared up at Kurt, nodding. Kurt smoothed his fingers up the length, telling Finn how good he looked; how big he was. He lifted his hips up a little, rubbing Finn’s cock against the curve of his ass.

“Wait, wait.” Finn breathed out, reaching out to still Kurt’s hips. “Don’t we need a condom?”

“I don’t… have one,” Kurt admitted. “I was tested since Blaine. I’d love to feel you. _All_ of you, but...”

Finn’s shoulders rose a little. “I’ve always used them before.”

“Me too,” Kurt admitted; he didn’t know whether to tell Finn the sensation of nothing between them might be too much. Gripping hold of the base of Finn’s dick, Kurt slowly breathed out as he lowered himself down. Their bodies came together a little shakily; it wasn’t as fluid as it could have been. Kurt felt the ache and stretch and watched Finn bite down on his own lip, like he was using every amount of control he had not to grab Kurt and pull him down until he bottomed out. Instead, slow and patient, his eyes didn’t stray from Kurt’s as he pushed slowly forward. Kurt whimpered and shook his head when Finn’s hands moved to rest on his hips, pushing his body up a little.

“Is this okay?”

“Give me a moment,” Kurt said. He willed himself to breathe through the hot, searing sensation. It radiated down his thighs, to the small of his back; it had been such a long time for him that the sensation was almost unfamiliar, and Finn was more than proportional. He felt his body begin to relax as he slid down a little further, then started to circle his hips. The heat shimmered inside as he leaned forward a little, his erection nudging the skin of Finn’s stomach each time Finn would thrust back.

This time, Finn moved him on his length, and Kurt didn’t tell him to stop. He allowed his body to be pulled to the mutual rhythm, moaning wetly into the quiet room as he leaned back a little. Finn continued to thrust slowly, so deep Kurt swore he could feel it in his throat, and the delicious, hot slide urged him to grab at Finn’s shoulders. Finn went harder, hard enough for the headboard to bang against the cabin’s thin walls, the painting above the bed shaking in its frame. Curling his lip, Finn reached for Kurt’s hands and grabbed his wrists, effortlessly holding them behind Kurt’s back with one hand as he nudged Kurt’s prostate with each cant of his hips and let Kurt fuck him into the soft mattress that cushioned them both.

Kurt sensed it wouldn’t be long when he saw Finn’s chest flush; his eyes were hooded, struggling to stay open and keep up the contact with his. He gasped, high, when Kurt swiveled his hips, his hands breaking free of Finn’s grip and settling to press down hard on his chest. Kurt squeezed himself around him and leaned down to kiss him, a messy clash of teeth, lips and tongue. He bit, sucked and tasted like he didn’t know where he ended and Finn began, breaking apart to suck in a deep breath.

“Kurt. Kurt, my _god_ , I can’t…” Finn bit down hard into Kurt’s shoulder, lips soothing then ghosting across his flesh as he pulled back. “I can’t hold back.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kurt said, his thighs beginning to ache as he pushed back down; he was close himself, and watched Finn’s eyes grow wet at the corners as his body began to shudder.

One of Finn’s hands clenched hard in the sheets and the other gripped on the knob of bone at Kurt’s shoulder as his mouth opened into a wide _oh_. Kurt swore he could feel him throb, and feel his release around him as he pushed out a little. He was so close, but he wasn’t quite there. Finn pushed back with a high gasp, his face creased in a spike of pleasure and pain. It was just on the edge of too much, and Kurt stilled his hips as he reached for his own cock. He jerked it roughly, his knees so weak he collapsed onto Finn’s chest, unable to hold himself up.

“You’re amazing, Kurt,” Finn said, his hands flat against Kurt’s back. “I love you so much.”

With one last twist of his wrist, Kurt felt himself open up around Finn. He moaned Finn's name, over and over, and he felt himself come over Finn, and the bed, and his own chest. HIs hips stuttered and the world fell away, the next sensation Finn’s arms rubbing at his back, and hair.

“I love you,” Finn repeated.

“I love you too,” Kurt said, softly, into Finn’s ear. Part of his brain told him to add some levity, some lightness to the situation, but he softly kissed at Finn’s jaw. “Uh, Finn? Roll over. I need to…”

“Oh. _Yeah_.”

Kurt watched Finn wrinkle his nose as Kurt grabbed himself at the base and quickly pulled out. He winced a little at the sticky, empty ache and reached for the tissues on the nightstand, handing one to Finn and giving himself a quick clean-up. Within seconds, he was curled back into Finn’s embrace. He couldn’t remember feeling this peaceful. The look Finn gave him was reverent, and he felt like something much bigger than the sum of their parts. Kurt wasn’t sure how long they rested together, enjoying the noise of each other’s breathing as it slowed down.

“Can I get a picture of you?” Finn smiled, kissing Kurt’s sweaty brow. “I need _something_ to keep myself company while I’m stuck out fixing up the house, and you’re…”

Kurt extended a hand and counted out the number of weeks on his fingers. “From the waist up,” he said, and kissed the tip of Finn’s nose. “It won’t be _that_ bad. We can always get a little frisky on Skype.”

“I’m not sure I can, you know, _participate_.”

“You can watch though, can’t you?” Kurt paused. “Call me when you’re painting. You’ll look hot in a bib overall.”

Finn laughed, hugging him tight. He _did_ reach for his phone, and took a picture of the two of them together. (Albeit from the waist up.) Kurt shivered a little; it was perfect. A little too perfect, because it made him wary for what was around the corner. Finn’s warmth wouldn’t be there the following night at 2 a.m. when he’d be all alone. Wrapping his arms around the stupid boyfriend pillow he claimed he’d thrown out. Trying to find a shred of the safety and security he’d had since Finn had returned to Ohio.

“This would be a really cool wedding venue,” Finn said. “Out here, by the creek, with the red rocks in the distance.”

Kurt sighed. It felt like the spell had broken a little. HIs happiness ripped away from him, just as it had built up momentum. He closed his eyes, turning on his side.

“Hey. Kurt?” Finn sounded smaller. More vulnerable. “I’ve never done _that_ with a guy, but I thought it was pretty good. Did I -- was I okay for you?”

“You seriously have to ask?” Kurt said, shuffling back against him. “Making love to you has been on my bucket list for over ten years. Of course, I didn’t actually _write_ your name on the darn thing, but this was better than any dewy lilac meadow. I can’t even find the words.”

“So why’d you look at me like when we were at my aunt’s 60th and I snatched the last baby cupcake from you?”

“Because it sucks.” Finn’s chest was still warm, a little clammy as his heartbeat started to slow back to its normal speed. “Because I have to let you go, when I only just _got_ you? Because I have to go back home to New York and finalize this goddamn divorce when there’s nothing I’d like more than to go call our concierge and elope with you right now?”

“Dude, we can’t elope until it’s legal,” Finn said.

Kurt wasn’t wholly sure Finn was kidding. “Blaine’ll hit the roof.”

“Yeah. He’ll probably hit _me_ ,” Finn muttered, running his hands gently through Kurt’s hair. “He’ll hit me _twice_ when he finds out I _am_ good enough for New York.”

Kurt smiled at that. It had been a long time since he’d heard Finn be so self-assured. He got up reluctantly, and fetched a bottle of water. He passed it to Finn and let him take a swig before he rehydrated himself, some of the cool liquid dripping down onto his chest. It was something they hadn’t yet discussed; when they were in New York, there was no escaping the fact they’d be a _them_. Santana and Puck already knew; Kurt was fairly sure they’d have kept it a secret, but they could only do this if Finn was willing to match his morals and honesty.

“Rachel,” Kurt said. The single word held more meaning than they both knew what to do with. “You _have_ to tell her, Finn.”

“We both do. But we need to sleep now,” Finn said. The kiss he gave was gentle and intimate in contrast with the passion from earlier. “It’ll work out. Why don’t you run a bath and clean up? I’ll handle the drive tomorrow. I drove from Phoenix to LAX when I visited Puck a few years back. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

Kurt sat on the edge of the bed. His legs still shook like a sapling in a strong breeze. He handed the water back to Finn, and looked over his shoulder as he dressed himself in a soft toweling robe and ran himself a bath. It smelled spicy, of ginger and cinnamon, and reminded him of fall. It wasn’t even two months away; he and Finn wouldn’t lark around raking leaves like they had when they were kids in Ohio, but they could definitely wrap up in warm sweaters and eat candy apples while taking in the russet rainbows of leaves lining Central Park.

As he sunk into the teal water and fluffy mounds of bubbles, Kurt realized there were few things better in life than making a new connection with his first love in the city you loved. Still, there was far more at stake. Kurt tried not to think about the deeper ramifications as he closed his eyes and submerged his face under the suds.


	9. Chapter 9

It was dark in the bedroom when Finn gently rubbed at Kurt’s shoulder. Immediately, Kurt could smell earthy, rich coffee. He saw that Finn had procured a French press; soon he’d filled up a cup with the inky liquid and passed it to Kurt, who added creamer. The patio door was still open, and the temperature hadn’t quite cooled off enough for him to feel comfortable.

“Should I change my flight?” Kurt wondered out loud. “It feels later than it should be.”

Finn shook his head. “It’s not even four.”

“Oh.” Kurt smiled, and patted the pillow next to him. “I could still change my flight.”

Finn must have been drinking something; his fingers were icy cold as they danced on the inside of Kurt’s forearm. “You should _cancel_ your flight,” he said, and leaned in to let Kurt rest his head on his shoulder. “Do you even realize what a blanket thief you are? You go to bed all tucked-in and proper, and you wake up like a horny starfish.”

“I do _not_ ,” Kurt protested. He slumped back against the pillows and felt Finn’s hand on his ass, fingers lightly squeezing the flesh of his right cheek. “I have a plane to catch. I have…”

“The most adorable bedhead I’ve ever seen?”

“That’s not the sort of compliment that gets you into my pants.”

“Good job you aren’t wearing any,” Finn said, reaching around to cup him through the sheets. “You want one for the road?”

“That’s not what that means.” Kurt sighed as he pulled away, reaching for his coffee. He took a long slurp, knowing Finn wouldn’t want to kiss him with coffee breath. “You need to shower. Pack up the rest of your things. Get this show on the road before it --”

“Goes all over the place,” Finn finished. His hand still rested on Kurt’s groin in a firm, teasing press.

“Yes.” Kurt let the bitter coffee wake up his bones. “The shows gotta go all over the place, and _we_ can go all over the place when you’re in New York. I can’t wait to wake up like this every morning.”

“Mm. Me too.”

“You wouldn’t get bored?”

Finn laughed lightly, his fingers rubbing at the crease of Kurt’s thigh. “Oh, I’ve got my ways of keeping you entertained.”

\--

Kurt realized precisely why Finn had woken them up earlier than necessary. They made use of the outdoor shower, Kurt letting Finn stand behind him and scrub gently at his hair while he watched the sky; it would soon be twilight, and the red rocks looked like shadows on the horizon with the sky a dark blue gradient, the stars still visible. They left a few minutes past four; Finn was breezy as he drove their truck past the stunning scenery in the early morning light, talking about orange juice with bits in being so wrong as it was like _fruit soup, man_ , and how they were going to come back during his spring break to hike the Waterfall Trail in the Coconino National Forest.

Nodding, Kurt slumped over; he was soon prodded gently awake, surprised to find that the sun was already bright in the shimmering sky.

“Where are we?” Kurt scrubbed at his eyes. “The town that had the meteor storm?”

Finn shook his head as he pulled into the parking lot of a diner that bore a sign stating ‘We Grill It -- You Kill It’. “Nope. Seligman, Arizona. It’s the place that inspired that movie, ‘Cars’.”

Kurt rotated his ankles and slowly got out of the truck. He felt the place _could_ do with a meteor storm. He could barely believe they were little more than an hour away from the lush, verdant pines and scorched layers of rock. Everywhere he looked, there were Old West storefronts that seemed instantly familiar, like they’d been used on documentaries about the _real_ America. They appeared to have been transplanted from where they really belonged.

“This is so awesome,” Finn said, taking in the baby pink Cadillac by the diner and the storefronts with clothed mannequins on their flat roofs, advertising biker gear. He pointed, jaw hanging open as a ball of tumbleweed rolled past. “Holy shit, that’s a _thing_?”

“It’s probably on a string,” Kurt muttered. He was feeling the oppressive heat already. “I think I’d have preferred the petroglyphs. There’s something rather fun about realizing the people who created them were just doing graffiti. They’re probably the prehistoric equivalent of those pornographic pictures of Rachel that Quinn drew in the girls’ bathroom.”

“I felt at peace driving through there.” Finn tugged his hat down over his eyes. “Like I was a part of something bigger. Something more significant.”

“We _are_ significant. Just think about what we’ve seen. Those meatheads who slushied us in high school are cleaning septic tanks, wiping up baby puke at WalMart, and driving around the same spots over and over in cars that make Schue’s old blue bomber look like a brand new Audi.”

The gravity of the situation seemed to hit Finn as he steered Kurt into the diner, his hand sliding away from Kurt’s back as they hit the door. “I don’t know what I’ll do if my mom’s not cool with this,” he admitted. “I know she’s got no issues with the whole gay thing, but….”

Kurt gave Finn’s hand a squeeze. “Carole’s my friend. She will _never_ be my mom.”

“And Burt knows he’ll never be my _dad_. Mr. Schue was always more of a father figure to me. Which, weird. I mean, I’m godfather to his kids, but…”

“Let’s grab a bite to eat. We need to get going to the Golden State.”

“Yeah.” Finn forced out a sunny smile as the waitress greeted them. “It feels kinda tarnished, now.”

\--

They had breakfast, then Finn continued to drive. Kurt drifted in and out of sleep and Finn made several stops to stretch his legs. They stopped in Lake Havasu City, watching brightly colored hot air balloons drifting over the city on their way in; they stopped again in Barstow, dusty and flat. Lastly, they swung by the drive-in of the In-n-Out near Rachel’s fixer-upper in Rancho Cucamonga.

Kurt covered his ears as the roar of a jet engine passed overhead. “Why didn’t you tell me you lived right by the airport?”

“Because there are no nonstop flights to New York. You wanna see the house?”

Nodding, Kurt placed the brown bag containing their burgers and fries on his lap as Finn drove them past lush, manicured lawns and high peaks that looked gray against the skyline. The ranch-style house was modest; it didn’t seem like somewhere Rachel would live. Paint was peeling off the siding, and the hipped roof was clearly in need of repair. Weirdly, though, the lawn had automatic sprinklers and glowed an emerald green that would put Carole’s to shame.

Finn was a little shy when he showed Kurt around, pointing out the features Rachel had told him she wanted. 

“This is _huge_ ,” Kurt gaped, as he opened the sliding doors in the open plan lounge to look out at the garden. “How'd you afford the mortgage?”

“There is no mortgage,” Finn admitted. “Rachel and her dad paid cash.”

“She planned on charging you rent, or…?”

“She knew I was saving up for grad school,” Finn said, scratching at his head. “She just didn’t know I was saving up to go to grad school in _New York_. We might have had different dreams, but she did encourage me to follow them."

Kurt sighed, guilty. He took in the surprisingly tasteful sage green kitchen with more gadgets than even Gordon Ramsay would know what to do with. The master bedroom had a large mahogany sleigh bed, the mattress still in its plastic wrapping. If Kurt was honest, he was rather jealous of the place. The dining area lacked furniture, so they put their food on cardboard boxes and argued about whether ketchup was better than _spread_.

\--

Finn made good enough time to take Kurt on a whistle-stop tour of Los Angeles before they made the short trip to LAX. Tall palm trees hugged the strip of road in the center as they drove past Paramount Pictures; Kurt was shocked how residential the area appeared, the city blending celebrity culture and the everyday right on Finn’s doorstep. They drove along the Foothill Freeway, the scenery hopelessly scorched and flat; Kurt didn’t feel at all at home.

That was probably the reason Finn didn’t, either.

They listened to the radio while Finn chatted about the surrounding areas, finding themselves gridlocked in traffic on the Santa Ana Freeway. Kurt looked to his side and saw a mural that looked like it had been drawn in chalk. Pastel-colored cars played alongside cheery palm tree outlines. It was the most colorful thing he’d seen in miles.

“The mural represents the area’s history. The culture,” Finn explained. “Never did find out what that Greek column exploding means. I _hate_ L.A.,” he said. “Sometimes I do think I’d be happier in one of those tiny towns like Lepanto. But it’s not _all_ bad out here.”

“It’s better _in_ here.” Kurt adjusted his bangs in the passenger side mirror. “Do I look presentable? I always get these awful highlights in the summer.”

“Awful? Are you kidding me? I _love_ that. Rach pays $400 at the _salon_ for that.”

Kurt smiled at him. “How do you always manage to turn things I hate about myself around, and make them sound like a gift?”

“Because when you love someone, _everything_ about them is a gift,” Finn said. His voice was so earnest that Kurt didn’t want to spend the rest of the day apart from him, let alone a month. “God, we made so many memories on this trip.”

“Good ones?”

“The very best,” Finn said.

“I wonder how Rachel’s doing in Europe,” Kurt said. It was a sorry attempt to change the subject, and they both knew it was a necessary one if Kurt was to end up at home in New York that night. “Will you be staying in the house while she’s gone?”

Finn didn’t answer. He rested one hand on the wheel, and the other lightly on Kurt’s upper thigh. “I got one last place to show you.”

\--

Soon, Finn pulled over, explaining they were in Manhattan Beach. He said it seemed a fitting finale to show Kurt a little piece of Manhattan in the smoggy sprawl of L.A. They walked across to a restaurant near the beach, sitting on a balcony that looked down to the Strand. Kurt peered out onto the beachfront, seeing the wooden pier in the distance and shallow, rolling dunes. The sand was pale yellow, and the strip of concrete by the sidewalk played host to bright pink and yellow flowers that could never have survived naturally in the climate. The line of red volleyball nets suggested activity, but the crowd mostly lounged on the sand or sauntered past the tall palm trees.

“This seems familiar. Did you take me here when I visited?”

“No. Santa Monica. I took you on the Ferris Wheel there, remember?” Finn pouted a little. “I’m an idiot. That’s the unofficial end of Route 66. We should have ended the trip there. I guess I just…”

Kurt murmured his agreement. He recalled how he’d sat in the gondola with Blaine on one side of him, and Finn on the other. He remembered how Finn’s arm was the first one to curl around him when their gondola came to a sudden jolt; back then, he’d explained it away by Finn’s sportsmanlike reflexes.

\--

They had a light lunch during which Finn pointed out areas of the beach where they’d filmed everything from ‘Point Break’ to ‘Weeds’, and even a Macklemore video. Kurt ordered the sharing platter, knowing he had to eat something before his flight, but also knowing he’d feel nauseous the moment the plane bumped through the clouds and ascended, taking him back home. He understood why Finn liked it out here. It was a lot quieter than Santa Monica had been; he felt the warm breeze from the ocean dance across his bare shoulders and cheeks as he poured some of the honey dressing over his goat cheese salad.

“Are you going to try some?” Kurt asked, reaching for an almond. He popped one in his mouth, savoring the crisp of the skin and the creamy nut inside. “Probably not,” he said, with a quiet laugh. “You’re probably still stuffed from that strange mayonnaise cheese… _thing_ you had at the In-n-Out.”

“Do _not_ rag on the Animal Style, dude,” Finn said. “Just _don’t_. There’s stuff like that in New York, though. Right?”

“Not for that price,” Kurt muttered.

Finn popped an almond in his mouth, then pointed at Kurt’s glass of wine. “Can I try a sip of that? It sucks that I think I _like_ the red stuff, and I’m about to move away from the place where they do the best red stuff in the world. Maybe the white stuff’s okay, too?”

Kurt tilted the liquid in his glass. “It’s…”

“Why do you _do_ that swishing thing? Is it just to look fancy at those snooty wine and cheese events?”

“No. It draws oxygen into the liquid. Blaine explained the science behind it once. It’s called orbital shaking.”

“I thought that was the name of his superhero alter ego?” Finn plucked the glass from Kurt’s hand. He swished it around a little too much, then took a sip. He didn’t miss a beat before he spat it on the ground, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. “Gross. Is it supposed to taste like cat’s piss?”

“You can take the boy out of Lima,” Kurt said. “It’s an Arkenstone Vineyards Sauvignon Blanc. It’s supposed to taste like…” Kurt reached for the tasting notes. “Feline urine passing through a _Juniper bush_?”

“Well, shucks,” Finn said. He took a handful of almonds and spoke while chewing. “You’d never make it as a Californian.”

\--

It was only five miles to LAX, and traffic was clear. The building loomed in front of Kurt like a giant, grey grimace. Its faceless concrete was underwhelming, and seemed a little asynchronous for a city that purported to be at the edge of everything. It was no less bleak inside the terminal, and Kurt understood perfectly why Finn had suggested Kurt spend a few days traveling up the coast before flying out of SFO. On autopilot, Kurt checked in. He distracted himself by watching the other travelers. He wondered what their stories were; it was doubtful they were there for business given the time his flight would arrive in JFK. Were they running _to_ , or running from?

“I’ll see you as soon as I can.” Finn drew an arm around Kurt’s upper back, then pulled away. “Promise me you’ll keep your phone on?”

Kurt gave him what he knew was a watery smile. He tasted the tear on his lips before he felt it fall, and let Finn dab at the corner of his eye with the pad of his thumb. They walked to security, and he held Finn’s hand, knowing it was perhaps a little too public for Finn to kiss him. Instead, he looked across to the security line. It was short, but the heavyset woman with red curls still seemed to scowl at him, like he was holding it up.

“I love you,” Kurt said, simply. He clutched the strap of his bag tightly.

“You too.” Finn leaned in, and Kurt pursed his lips in expectation, but instead he fell back on the balls of his feet. “You fly safe, okay?”

“I’ll call you when I touch down.” Kurt turned around, and took one last look over his shoulder. Finn had one hand clutched to his chest, the other clutched into a fist at his side. Willing himself to walk away, Kurt could sense Finn’s presence retreating. He knew if he looked again, he’d still be able to see him, head and shoulders over the rest of the crowd in the security hall. Numbly, he went through the motions of placing his pin, watch, and belt in a plastic tray as he walked through security.

“If you love someone, set them free,” Kurt muttered. He didn’t care that the security guard was looking at him like he needed a straightjacket instead of a body scanner. He toed his shoes back on, and placed his spider pin in his pocket. “Well, what a load of crap.”

Immediately, Kurt reached for his phone. He imagined Finn might be back on the road, his blue truck fading into the smoggy skies; he looked so out of place driving through those congested, suburban streets.

 _I can’t cope with six weeks_ , he typed, fingers trembling. _Come home_.

There was no response. Finn must have been driving, so Kurt had a look around, finding little more than a newsstand selling some tacky ‘Hollywood’ sign shirts and fridge magnets. After buying one for Blaine, he made his way to the airport bar and ordered an overpriced vodka tonic. He gulped it down, like it was water, and he was a dehydrated man in a searing hot desert. The young woman serving him gave him a sympathetic smile and Kurt must have looked so broken that she immediately served him up another, telling him not to bother when he put his fingers in his wallet to give her a tip.

As he finished his drink and waited for the boarding call, he looked at the photos on his phone: Finn’s silhouette contemplating the sunset in Texas; Finn grinning with sauce on his chin as he ate a burger in Oklahoma; Finn scrunching his nose as he wrapped one arm around Kurt and the other around a giant inflatable Santa Claus. Reaching into his carry-on, he thumbed the pill bottle of Xanax that Santana had slipped him two years ago, when Burt had suffered a second heart attack. As the gate staff called him by name over the PA system, Kurt reached for his bottle of water, took two pills, and turned off his phone.

Before long, he was buckled into his first class seat, and drifted off the moment after the overly-chirpy safety announcement had finished.


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt didn’t wake up until his plane touched down on the runway with a jolt. Swiftly, he thanked the flight attendant who would have caught his eye on most occasions, and was soon outside with his luggage, hailing a cab. As the cabbie arrived at his destination, Kurt sighed, looking up to the top floor of his brownstone rowhouse. Thankfully, the lights were off. The night was just on the pleasant side of balmy, and Kurt should have been tired but wanted to end the night sitting out on his roof terrace with a mug of mint tea. Finally, he made it up the stairs with his luggage, slowly opening the door. When he found no signs of life, he hit the lights.

“Kurt?” Blaine’s voice seemed almost uncomfortably loud. “Kurt, hey! It’s really you?”

Kurt nodded. He wheeled his suitcase and dry cleaning bag through the door, locking it behind him.

“I’ll help you with those,” Blaine declared. He stood up, setting his Kindle on the coffee table. He wore a seersucker pajama set, dressed for bed.

“It’s alright. I’ve got them,” Kurt said. He set his luggage down by the small dining room table; he’d deal with his laundry after some sleep. The room seemed strangely unfamiliar after his weeks away; it was neater than he’d expected and indeed hoped for, but he was not surprised to see the can of pop on the coffee table with a half-open box of pastries next to it. “How are you? How were the fireworks?”

“Phenomenal,” Blaine said, not missing a beat. “I went down to Berry Park with Casper and Ben. Got back about an hour ago. The boys hit the clubs, but I gotta save some energy.”

“On a Saturday night?”

Blaine chuckled. “The Health Careers Opportunity Program is harder work than I thought it’d be,” he said. His smile dipped a little. “Tell me about your trip!”

“It was wonderful. Finn’s doing great.”

“I didn’t mention _Finn_ ,” Blaine huffed.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Some tea, perhaps?” Kurt offered. He looked past Blaine’s fixed expression and natural halo of curls to stare at the Keith Haring print he’d won at a charity auction. He needed to focus on something cheery and colorful. “Or something stronger? Finn and I picked up this bourbon in Memphis that…”

Blaine seemed to bristle further at the mention of Finn. “Tea would be great. Hey, why don’t you give me your phone? I’ll hook it up to the T.V. and you can talk me through your _brotherly_ adventures on the open road.”

Kurt placed his hands on his cheeks. They were warm with the knowledge that the last few photos on his phone were anything _but_ brotherly. One of the very last was of Finn wearing nothing but a sheet and a sleepy smile. “The… screen broke. I’ll get it fixed tomorrow.”

“Huh.” Blaine stared at Kurt with hazel eyes that bore none of the warmth of Finn’s. “It was working fine this afternoon when you uploaded that picture of you and Finn on the beach.”

“Yes, he dropped it. He was trying to take a picture of a seagull and an insect flew in his eye.”

Blaine sat back down on the couch. He reached for his Kindle and turned it off. “Your neck looks a little sore. Was the insect trying to bite you?”

“It’s terrible out there, truly,” Kurt said, rubbing at his jaw as he walked the short distance to the kitchen area, his stomach wobbling with guilt. He whistled to himself as he filled the tea kettle, then set it on the stove to boil. “Nylon needs to do an op-ed on citronella fragrances, stat.”

“It’s strange.”

Kurt startled a little at the voice from behind him, clattering the cupboard door where he was extracting mugs. “What, citronella? Oh _please_. You were just as disparaging about yuzu. Citrus is _in_.”

“No, silly! The endless sunshine.” Blaine reached for a small teapot, readying to add tea leaves, but Kurt batted his hand away. It was too domestic. “Doesn’t it get boring?”

“I suppose it depends on the company one keeps.” Kurt opened the drawer, searching for the tea strainer. “It rained in St. Louis and Oklahoma, and they were the most boring parts of the _trip_. Go sit down. I’ll bring it through.”

\--

Kurt took his time, warming the teapot with boiling water before adding the tea leaves and letting it steep. He used his silver tea strainer to catch the leaves, adding a small squeeze of honey. He'd let the tea steep so long it was a dark teak, tannins wobbling at the top of their mugs.

“Mm.” Blaine smiled as Kurt handed him his mug, inhaling the soothing mint and spicy cardamom. “I know you say warm milk’s the best, but no-one makes Moroccan Mint quite like you.”

Taking a sip of his own tea, Kurt pushed past the compliment. “It’s late,” he stated.

“Yeah. I’ve had trouble sleeping these past few weeks,” Blaine admitted, cradling the mug in his hands. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.” Sighing, he slumped back into the couch. “Finn and Santana were right. I shouldn’t have been there. At your party. And, well. I signed those papers, Kurt.” He held his hand up, showing Kurt the backs of his fingers. “I’m not even wearing my ring.”

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt said, softly. “Thank you.”

“Your happiness means more to me than mine.”

“I didn’t divorce you for that reason,” Kurt said. He sat down on the chair, opposite Blaine. “I appreciate your maturity, but don’t martyr yourself. Going our separate ways is best for the both of us.”

Blaine nodded. “I _love_ you, Kurt. I can see how this is best for us. You have to accept, though, I’ve got every right to be angry.”

Kurt took a sip of his tea, the bitterness coating his tongue. “Angry?”

Nodding, Blaine lowered his eyes a little.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but the right decisions. They’re…” Kurt looked to Blaine, his eyes seeming a little greener as they dampened at the corners. “They’re not always the easiest ones,” he finished, a little lamely.

“No.” Blaine curled his feet under him, seeming even smaller than Kurt remembered. “I _will_ always carry half of my heart with you, but I have to be strong. I can’t drop out of school _again_ because my heart’s been broken. My GPA already took a big enough hit last semester.”

Kurt willed himself to look at Blaine. He sensed there might have been a _but_ , although the soaring speech about building things up from the ground didn’t happen. Blaine sipped his tea in silence, his eyes flying open when there was a sharp knock. Kurt sighed. It was nearly three in the morning, and anyone truly worthy of his time would break down the door. He wasn’t letting anyone get between him, his mattress, and a good twelve hours of sleep. The red eye was a pain, although did it really _count_ as a red eye on an early Sunday morning when most of the people in his city were hitting the clubs still?

“It could be your _dad_ ,” Blaine said. “If he has a third attack, he might not --”

“Shut up,” Kurt said, tugging the edges of his sleeves over his hands. The spume of panic rose in his gut as he watched Blaine set down his mug and walk to the door, pulling back the deadbolt.  “Oh my _god_ , it could be my dad. Or Carole, or _Rachel_ , or even --”

“Finn?” Blaine turned to Kurt, one eyebrow raised as he opened the door.

Kurt took in the sight. He closed his eyes, counted down from five, and then opened them. Finn was, indeed, standing on his doormat. He’d changed his clothes, wearing dark wash jeans tucked into dark leather boots, and a gray t-shirt with a silhouette of pine trees on the front. A red flannel shirt was tied around his waist, and stubble scattered his cheeks and jaw. It screamed _gay lumberjack_ , but for once in his life, Kurt didn’t think about mocking Finn’s dress sense as he dashed forward and embraced him.

“It’s _you_ , it’s you,” Kurt rambled, setting his head so it rested into the crook of Finn’s neck. He breathed in Finn’s natural smell, marred with a little sweat and the unpleasant tinge of garbage from the sewer grates nearby. Kurt didn’t care, though; he just clutched at Finn more tightly. “I never even thought -- how on _earth_ is this even possible?”

Finn just smirked. “I thought I had one more surprise left in me.”

Kurt swiped lightly at his chest. “You got on my flight, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I thought about it when we were in Sedona, and I had a lot of time on the drive across to L.A. to think. So, I thought, hey, why don’t I run _to_ for once? So I ran outta the terminal, right into the parking garage, and drove my shitty old truck to the cash for cars place just off Airport Boulevard. Stuffed the cash in my bag, told the cabbie to step on it, and _bam_. Made it with enough time to grab some cookies and a lemonade, even.”

“And you didn’t think to let me know _on the plane_?”

“You were in first class and the flight attendants wouldn’t let me through!” Finn protested. “By the time we’d landed, I raced through the airport but you’d already gone.”

“They could have passed on a message?” Blaine said, shaking his head a little.

Finn’s smiled dipped. He clearly hadn’t thought of that. He walked into the apartment, setting down his bag next to Kurt’s suitcase and winced a little as he rubbed at his shoulder. He looked towards Kurt. “Is it cool to stay here and wash off the subway grime, or do I need to pay off Santana into letting me crash on a pile of coats at her bar?”

“The subway!” Kurt screeched. “Why on earth didn’t you hail a cab? You could have been mugged!”

Finn looked nonplussed. “Getting the subway’s what natives do though, right?” he said, trying not to appear the naive Midwest transplant he was. When Blaine looked down at his own feet, Finn shot Kurt a wink. He was nothing _close_ to naive at that moment. “Look, everything I own’s either in my bag, my suitcase, or due to be stowed in a storage unit in Riverside, so I gotta learn how to be a native quick.”

Kurt stared at him, mouth wide open.

“Any native will _always_ get a cab,” Blaine said, his arms folded across his chest. He reached his hand into his box of pastries and extracted a donut hole, biting into it with a vicious chomp. He had powdered sugar on his chin when he spoke. “Kurt? Did you _know_ about this?”

“He should have done.” Finn scowled. “I _told you_ I’d see you soon, didn’t I? I left you six voicemails, and god knows how many texts.”

“You broke his phone,” Blaine said. “I guess you’re so tired you forgot. Sit down and relax. Grab a drink, Finn. I’ll fetch some clean sheets and make up the couch.”

Finn looked genuinely confused this time. “I broke his phone six _years_ ago. We were at that NYADA summer ball with the swing dancing and the swords, and I sat on it. Total accident. I don’t know why you’re bringing it up now, unless --” Finn walked over to Kurt and lightly poked him in his shoulder. “Why’d you tell him your phone was broken?”

Kurt looked to Finn, then Blaine.

Blaine, though, seemed not to care. He drained his now-cold tea, and set the mug down on the table with a clatter. He waved his hand in the direction of the couch, but his smile seemed more than forced. “I’ll make the couch up for you. It’s not the largest, but Sam and Mike have crashed here a bunch of times, and they never complained.”

“Finn’s not sleeping on the couch,” Kurt said as he walked across to Finn, standing by his side. His eyes fell shut a little as Finn placed a hand on his spine, rubbing gently at his lower back before it settled on his waist.

“Oh.” Blaine paused. “ _Oh!_ You want _me_ to sleep on the couch. Well, I suppose you gotta be tired from that driving, and sightseeing.”

Finn tugged Kurt closer. “Cut the crap, Blaine. You know what I’m doing here. You knew before you even answered the damn door.”

Instantly, Blaine appeared a foot taller as he paced around the small living area, his compact form appearing as a much larger presence. “Do I? Really?” The maturity and kindness he’d shown earlier melted away in front of Kurt’s eyes. “I thought I did, but Kurt’s the most _moral_ person I know. What you’re implying is the most immoral thing that I could even conceive. Did you plan on telling me? Huh?” Blaine slammed his fist against the dining table. “Or did you want to _laugh_ at me, while I tried to work it out for myself?”

“Wait. Hold up, hold up.” Finn laughed into his fist. “You cheated on him while you were married. _Twice_. And you’re calling _us_ immoral?”

“It’s not just immoral! I think it might even be _illegal_!” Blaine said, placing one hand on his hip, his shoulders heaving. “I wish I’d never signed the papers for a _no-fault_ divorce, you son of a bitch."

Finn stepped in front of Kurt. “Don’t you _ever_ speak to him like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine snarled. “I’m sorry that fucking your brother is a more enticing prospect than having to _suffer_ a marriage with your soulmate.”

“It’s not illegal.” Finn’s face was the very picture of a man spoiling for a fight. “I did a Google search three years ago, so you can suck a hot one. You know, it’s weird. That _morals_ are the first thing _you_ mention, when you sure seem to lack them.”

“Three _years_?” Blaine yelled, his voice loud enough to echo around the small apartment. He began to pace, bare feet heavy on the wooden floors. “You wanted him for _three years_?” Walking over to Kurt, his nostrils flared as he waved his hands around. “Did you want to just keep me around in our _sham_ of a relationship, all for --?”

Kurt rubbed at his eyes. “I was _trying_ to salvage things between us,” he said. “I wanted things to work out so badly after I made that commitment to you, but I -- I shouldn’t have done it. I never should have accepted that ring, and I should have realized it meant something we could never, ever _be_.”

Turning around, Blaine’s jaw was set firm. For a terrifying moment, Kurt swore he was spoiling to land a punch at Finn, but the sharp banging of what sounded like a broom handle from the downstairs neighbors snapped him out of it. “I can’t even _look_ at you,” he said, his voice thick. “Either of you. I thought we were soulmates. Then, I thought we could be best friends, but you go and hook up with _him_? This is ignoble. It’s contemptible. And what does _Rachel_ have to say, huh?”

“She…” Finn started, his voice faltering. “She, ah…”

“Of _course_. She has no idea, because you haven’t even told her yet. Such courage, Finn. Waiting until the love of your life is in another country before you have your hook-up, so you don’t even have to face up to your indiscretions.” Blaine’s face soured further. “Not that you ever _have_ , considering you run away from everything whenever things turn sour. Don’t you want someone with ambition, Kurt? Someone with _dreams_?”

“He _has_ a dream,” Kurt said, quietly. He watched Blaine cry in earnest, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, his nose shiny red and snotty. It was exactly the reaction he’d expected, and he was certain Blaine would walk over to the table and tear the envelope containing the divorce papers in two.

“What could he possibly give you that I couldn’t?”

“About ten extra inches, if you must know,” Kurt snapped, unable to help himself.

Blaine paled a little, and stopped crying for a moment before the tears started up again. He wiped off his nose on his sleeve, looking younger, and while Kurt didn’t regret the end of his marriage, he regretted these particular circumstances.

“I got plenty of dreams, and Kurt’s just one of ‘em,” Finn said. “You can call me a sick freak as much as you like, but I’m a sick freak who’d take a damn bullet for this guy, so go try to find some 80s electro shit to sing your way out of that one.”

“I--” Blaine put his head in his hands. “I didn’t mean you didn’t have dreams. I just meant --”

“Go on!” Finn’s smirk was a little wild. “Find a song to sing. We’ll set up some online karaoke.”

Blaine looked up, his face still messy, but some of his fire had returned. “Well, I can’t say _I’ve_ ever seen a song catalog that has a section for incest.”

Kurt sat down next to Blaine. He felt like he was playing the role of reluctant peacekeeper, and he gently placed his hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “These past five years have been nothing but hard work. They’ve felt like waiting in line for a show, for a _week_ , then the shutters going down when you’re next in line at the window. It’s been _five years_. Five years playing a supporting role in a movie when you want to be the star. That’s not a healthy foundation for dating, let alone for a _marriage_.”

“It’s not _Rachel’s_ fault you didn’t reach your dreams,” Blaine said.

“We’re not talking about Rachel’s dreams. We’re talking about _his_ , and _mine_ ,” Kurt said, taking Blaine’s hands gently in his. “You are a wonderful, brilliant man, but you must be able to see how wrong we were for each other. You _were_ my teenage dream. I treasure that, still. I’ll treasure that when I’m wearing adult diapers and telling the candy stripers to change their godforsaken modern music for some Annie Lennox.”

“You’re not his dream _now_ ,” Finn said, a little more bluntly, reaching for a pastry and popping it in his mouth.

“And he _is_?” Blaine said, sniffing a little as he let go of Kurt’s hands. “Is that what you’re saying? I mean, what do you want me to even say about this?”

Kurt sighed. He wasn’t sure what Blaine _could_ say. “You need to realize I’ll never be who you _want_ me to be. That the parts of me, the ones that caused all the conflict between us, are the parts that _he_ accepts.” Pausing, Kurt placed his hands in his lap. “I want you to be happy. I want you to try and find it in yourself to be happy for _us_.”

Blaine’s face seemed to soften a little at that as he wiped off his nose with his sleeve again. “I’m not happy. You’ve been brothers for all the time I’ve known you, and I _knew_ it was coming, but I still can’t reconcile that with the look you two are giving each other now.”

“Finn.” Kurt spoke firmly. “Can you get him some tissues and a glass of water?”

“Sure,” Finn said quickly. He leaned over, and gave Kurt a quick kiss on the cheek. “Tu casa es mi casa.”

\--

Kurt excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he returned, Finn was still in the kitchen area, fetching what was either the world’s largest glass of water, or fixing up a glass bottle orchestra. Kurt sat down opposite Blaine, who still had his head in his hands and looked up, shooting Kurt the sort of look that could freeze boiling water. “You are such a hypocrite,” he said, his voice quiet but colored with anger. “Rachel invites _her_ boyfriend to stay back in college, and you pitch a fit about him getting his sweat over the dining chairs. Santana shows up _homeless_ and you act like she burned the loft down. We had Skype dates where I’d want to get a little playful, and all you’d do was moisturize and complain about your privacy being violated. You expect me to be okay with this?”

“Of _course_ I don’t!”

“So tell him to leave!”

Kurt glared right back. "He was going to move here in August. I'd assumed he'd perhaps find a roommate or charm his way into the grad dorms, but --”

“Wait. _Grad dorms_?” Blaine gaped openly, his mouth swinging open like a screen door. “Who _is_ this man? Tina must have been bored and created a Finn bot.” Blaine slapped his hand against his forehead. “You’re telling me that your _straight_ brother decided he was into guys, and he’s going to grad school when he spent his senior year of high school making mnemonics to Journey lyrics and barely pulling Bs?"

“Finn’s an experiential learner. McKinley didn’t exactly fertilize his brain.”

“I just…” Blaine rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t know what to say. You’re hooking up with your _brother_ , and only two weeks ago, you were talking about going on a fourth honeymoon with _me_.”

“Please, don’t say that word. We aren’t brothers. We never _have_ been. It just took us ten years to find a better word to describe our relationship. We’re…”

“Boyfriends,” Finn finished, handing Blaine and Kurt a glass of water each. “You remember back in high school, when Kurt ran for senior class president? He needed to strengthen his college application because NYADA didn’t know talent when it slapped them in their snooty faces. Anyway, Rach was running against him, because _god knows_ she didn’t have enough on her college resumé. I told her I was voting for Kurt, and she freaked. This one day before class, she strides up to me, bangs her tiny fist against my chest, and just plants one on me.”

“And she says,” Kurt finished, “Would your brother do _that_? And Finn just laughs at her, and tells her that they do in Kentucky.”

Finn gaped. “How did you know?”

“Rachel told us,” Blaine finished. “Was that… was that when you realized?” He sighed, taking a sip of his water. “Maybe I should have seen it coming a lot sooner.”

“Maybe I should’a, too. I just never knew anyone with a brother, and by the time I realized Kurt was nothing _like_ what a brother should be, he was married. It was too late, and besides, I was scared shitless.”

“There we were, trying to slap this label on ourselves, to describe what we _were_ , but…”

“You’re boyfriends.” Blaine scowled over the word.

“Yeah.” Finn flashed Blaine a close-lipped, tight smile. “Boyfriends who met when we were kids, and whose parents married _way_ after he was helping me with my homework and making moon-eyes across the hallway. Any jerk who thinks that’s immoral needs to grab a dictionary and look up what the damn word actually means.”

Blaine reached for the pastry box and held it out to Blaine. It was a weird sort of peace offering and Finn nodded, smiling back at Blaine as he extracted a chocolate chip mini muffin. As the pair munched their way through the box in silence, Kurt was reminded that shacking up with the big lug was going to be murder on him if they shared grocery bills.

“He makes you happy, doesn’t he?” Blaine said, swallowing his mouthful of food.

Kurt sighed. “The happiest. I want _you_ to be happy, Blaine. More than anything. And I want you to do it by being happy in your _own_ life, and living for _yourself_.”

“I’m here, living my life for _myself_ ,” Finn said. “For, like, the first time in ever. It’s the best damn decision I ever made.”

\--

For the following minutes, Finn and Blaine actually _did_ hug before Blaine excused himself to go to bed. Finn raised an eyebrow when the dulcet tones of Brian Ferry singing ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’ filled the apartment. Kurt stifled a laugh, and then felt awful for even _having_ the impulse, like a villain in a particularly cheesy Garry Marshall movie. With Blaine out of his eye line, Kurt allowed himself to embrace Finn, taking in just how good he looked in jeans that actually fit him. Experience told him he wasn’t quiet in showing his appreciation, though; the situation was tentative enough without moaning the walls down.

“Things are pretty good,” Finn said, sitting down on the couch. “Better than I thought they’d be. I thought I’d be hailing a cab with a bag of frozen peas against my eye.”

Kurt tilted his head against Finn’s chest. “We did avoid a fight. I think that was mostly because he knew, deep down, it wouldn’t have been one he could have won.”

“It’s barely big enough for one person in here,” Finn said. “I get why you work in those all-night coffee shops and dessert cafés. Guess we’ll have to sort something out sooner rather than later.”

Kurt’s breath caught at _we’ll_ , before he reminded himself that they had always been, and still were, a _we_. Finn’s whole body language was a little possessive. He seemed like he wanted to wrap Kurt up and help him guard himself against everything bad in the world. “I can’t wait to show you around,” Kurt said, clapping his hands together as Blaine’s pity party for one segued into ‘Jealous Guy’ before Blaine stilled it, clearly realizing it was no use. “There’s so much to see and do here!”

“I’ll start with a shower. You know how to dry out wet currency?”

“Hang them on the washing line over the fire escape?” Kurt yawned, his joints creaking as he stood up. “I have no idea. I’m sure one of the ‘Godfather’ movies has the answer. I’ll go fetch some towels.”

\--

Kurt sat down, flicking through the latest issue of Vogue while he heard the pipes creak and hum a little. He smiled, hearing the echo of Finn’s voice emerge over the spray of running water. His conscience told him to tell Finn to be quiet, as his downstairs neighbors ran a hipster bakery and got up around five. His heart told him to let the man sing. He went to the kitchen area to refill his glass of water, and looked out of the small window. For now, his city that never slept was falling into an uneasy slumber, save for a skittish orange cat and a lone lit window. The street itself was relatively quiet, but they could walk to Times Square within minutes; see ‘Jersey Boys’, or maybe even ‘On the Town’ if Finn admitted what a romantic fool he was. They could grab burgers and a malt from his favorite burger place two blocks away; let Finn take a photograph of the lush lawns juxtaposed with the skyscraper backdrop in Bryant Park. Go for a long, lazy weekend Upstate and go canoeing in the Adirondacks; at least, if Finn could fit in the damn things.

Well. Perhaps not Bryant Park, Kurt realized.

“Can we get a pizza?” Finn said, his voice startling Kurt a little as he vigorously towel-dried his hair. “I swear, actually having water pressure? That’s gonna take a while to get used to.”

“It’s nearly four in the morning,” Kurt said, considering. “Still, the way to a man’s heart _is_ through his stomach.”

“Nah. I’m pretty sure it’s through his ribs.”

“You’re too cute to be a smartass,” Kurt said, and turned around, taking in Finn who was wearing socks, a white t-shirt and white boxers. “Don’t wear those again if you want to get lucky. You look like you’re auditioning for a high school production of ‘Risky Business’.”

Finn tugged down the hem of his t-shirt. “Can we order a pizza, or not?”

Kurt snatched his phone from the table, and quickly opened up the favorites on his app. “This place is 24/7.”

“Lobster?” Finn’s brow creased. “Duck confit?”

“It’s pronounced con-fee, and it’s _divine_.”

Finn paused, scanning the menu. He was close enough for Kurt to feel his body heat, and the tension that had barely resolved after the night they shared in Sedona still crackled between them. Kurt tapped in an order for them both, and smiled then the app told him it would be precisely eighteen minutes. He did so love the commingling of New York and efficient technology, although he mused that they might be quiet as most of the city was passed out from their Fourth of July parties.

“Rachel knows,” Finn said, quickly. “She _knows_.”

Kurt didn’t quite realize how much water he’d sputtered out until he felt his pants grow wet. “Please tell me she didn’t know _before_ we --”

“I really thought she deserved to know in person, but she’s in Cannes, or Monte Carlo, or somewhere far away from where planes go, and I’d already blown enough cash on this vacation. I need to save every cent for grad school. She’s not even coming back until September, now.”

“Did you volunteer this information?”

“I didn’t have to.” Finn’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I had to tell her to let Taylor’s people know that I wouldn’t be able to pick up the cat, and to make, uh, alternate arrangements. Rach asked me if I'd decided to spend more time with you, and if I had a nice trip, so I told her about what happened at Quinn’s wedding, and…” Finn reached for Kurt’s glass of water and took a large gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “She started to cry.”

“Not entirely unknown for Rachel,” Kurt said. “Dramatic crying?”

“Crying over a guy crying.”

“Ah.”

“I asked her if she was upset about not being there to watch Quinn and Puck get married. I know she had this thing where she said she’d marry Puck if they were both single by the time they were thirty, although I think Rach might have said that to make me jealous. Anyway, I wondered, hey, maybe she _did_ have something going on with Quinn, which. Okay. _Weird_ , but that would have been super --”

“Get to the point before your eyes glaze over.”

“They might be glazed over, but they still _work_ ,” Finn said. He got up and paced the room, walking in a u-shape before he bumped his leg on the dining chair and sat on it, bending down to rub at his toe. “Point is, I _know_ what that crying means. She just said ‘ _oh, Finn_ ’ all sad and small, and it made me cry, too. I know what that looks like on her. I didn’t want to be the jerk who put it there!”

“I knew she’d hate me. I _knew_ it.” Kurt slid forward a little, his legs sliding under the coffee table. “She always _will_. I gained a boyfriend and lost my best friend, just like every awful cliché. My heart feels like it’s been hit by a tire iron.”

Finn looked at him, serious. “She’s this perfect flower, in perfect soil, and we’re the asshole gardeners who bring the weed killer.”

“Do _not_ compare me to weed killer,” Kurt said, trying not to laugh. “Look. Rachel is an amazing woman. If I liked girls, I’d have married her _long_ before Blaine could have even thought about popping the question. Are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure, that it’s me you want?”

“Yeah.” Finn scraped back the chair and walked over to the couch. He knelt down where Kurt had spread his legs apart a little, and placed his hands on the couch, on either sides of Kurt’s thighs. His eyes were wide, and a little wet, and his face broke into a smile. “ _Yeah_. I’ve reached that point where good isn’t enough. I don’t just need _good_. I want something -- hell, I deserve something -- that can give me _right_."

“And you’re really going to find that in psychology? Rach told me you came bounding home from work with a dorky grin on your face most days.”

“She wasn’t _there_ most days.” Finn shrugged his shoulders. “I _am_ gonna miss my kids. The principal begged me to stay on, even said I could get involved in the AVID program and focus on underachieving kids, but… when I was nineteen, I thought I sucked at everything, so I looked towards what other people thought I was good at. Lima U wasn’t much more than a party school, and even _that_ was scarier than climbing a mountain on a skateboard, so forgive me for doing the thing I sucked at the least.”

“But you were really _good_ at it.”

“Yeah. I wore those fancy clothes Rach picked out, being the _cool_ teacher, but it didn’t make me feel any different. It didn’t make me _happy_. I kept reading those self-help books Rach and you swear by, and one day I read this one with a stupid title about parachutes that told me people are best at what they enjoy the most. So I thought about my high school and college classes, and realized what I enjoyed the most was _helping_ people. I thought about working in healthcare, so Mom took me into Lima Memorial and I spent some time with some of her nurse friends and even the smell made me faint.This seemed like a much better fit.”

“And you’re not worried about the grass being greener on the other side of the fence?”

“I’ll just hire one of those lawn sprayer things.” Finn paused. “I know it’s not going to be easy, and I might completely screw it up, but you’re gonna be there right with me. Help me through _any_ crisis. It’s gonna be okay. There are all these studies. About, like, _how_ people have the dreams they do. How they’re torn between love, and their job, and their family, and the need to have it all, and I just realized --”

“You’re happy without dreaming big?”

“I’m happy with the dreams I _have_.”

They were interrupted by a quiet knock at the door. Kurt grabbed his wallet and quickly handed the cash over to the bored-looking delivery guy. He set the pizzas down on the coffee table, and went into the kitchen to fetch some napkins and paper plates. Suddenly, he had an idea. “You fancy eating these out on the roof terrace?”

“You have a _roof terrace_?” Finn said. Kurt leaned over and tilted a finger under his jaw, pressing it shut. Swiftly, Finn grabbed both the pizzas and shot Kurt a look over his shoulder. “Last one out’s a Lima Loser!”

Kurt tried to wind past him, wanting to point out that Finn didn’t even have _shoes_ on, but Finn’s size gave him the advantage. “Takes one to know one!” Kurt called out as they raced up the stairs, Kurt praying that Finn didn’t drop the pizzas on his foot.

\--

Panting a little, Kurt caught his breath as he sat down on one of the blue and white sun loungers on the terrace. Finn placed the pizza boxes on the other, dragging it opposite them until it formed a makeshift table. Kurt _did_ like the fact he had outdoor space, but could see from the look on Finn’s face it wasn’t anything like the oasis he’d imagined. Old plastic kiddie pools planted by his downstairs neighbors contained thready tomato plants and slightly wilted eggplants, and a rusty bicycle missing its front wheel rested by the fire escape. Kurt pointed out his own edible herb garden, Finn gawping at the fennel that towered nearly as much as he did.

“It’s real nice up here,” Finn said. He opened up the pizza box. “I won’t lie, I’ll miss all the carrots and lemons and stuff that we got in California, but we can make, uh…”

“Fennel-infused vodka?” Kurt suggested. He grabbed a slice and shoved it into his mouth. “There’s a bar near Santana’s where they serve divine fennel-strawberry mojitos. The cocktail waiters all wear lab coats.”

“Let’s go there for Halloween.” Finn reached into the box, and his face scrunched up into something far less attractive than it had been only seconds previously. He squinted like there was something in his eye. “There’s potato. On my pizza. Is this some sorta joke?”

“You like potatoes, and you like pizza. Give it a try!”

“Whatever,” Finn mumbled, chewing the edge. “Pizza ruiner.” His brow raised when he chewed the soft dough and silky potato. He took a larger bite, grinning around the mouthful. “Wow. This is awesome!”

“It’ll do?”

“Well, yeah.” Finn had already finished his slice, and reached for another. “It’s potato, and cheese, and bread. Like, my three favorite things are here, and they’re throwing a party in my mouth.”

Kurt laughed. He reached down for his own slice before Finn ate the lot.

“I am such an idiot. All this time, my favorite things were _there_ , and I didn’t even realize something this awesome was an option, I --”

Suddenly, Kurt yelped when Finn’s hands grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, closing his distance between them. Slick -- slightly greasy -- lips moved across his, and when Finn pulled away from their kiss, he looked almost shy as he tucked his hair behind his ear. It curled a little, not quite dried off from Finn’s shower and the night’s humidity.

Instantly, Kurt slammed the pizza box shut with his hand. “After all we’ve been through, my love rival is an inanimate food product?”

Finn tried to push Kurt’s hand away, anxious to get at his pizza. “Sorry it took me ten whole years to think outside the box.”

“Did you just use pizza as a metaphor for our relationship?” Kurt raised his eyebrow. “Again?”

“Uh, kinda?”

“They’re bad for your health but you can’t stop yourself wanting them at four in the morning?” Kurt said, trying not to laugh when Finn pouted. “Pizza is pizza, Finn. This? It’s _us_. The way we should always have been. You don’t need to use food metaphors to explain how silly we were to miss what was under our noses. Let’s just be.”

“Sure. I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is.”

Kurt swatted Finn with the edge of his pizza crust. “Shut up, _Forrest_ , and eat your pizza.”

“Stupid is as stupid does.” Finn said, reaching for another slice.

Chewing slowly on the crust he held, Kurt looked to the skies above. The horizon was a smoggy, scenic orange but the uppermost part of the sky was turning grayer before his own eyes. The sun would struggle to break through, and it wasn’t worth waiting for dawn to fully break out. As Finn continued to eat his pizza, Kurt startled, feeling a drop of rain on the tip of his nose. Immediately, he slammed the box shut again, then inelegantly shoved the pair of boxes under the sun lounger.

“Screw the pizza,” Kurt said, quickly. He licked his lips. “Screw _you_ , you dork.”

“But I thought you said I had to eat the --”

“Eat it cold and soggy for all I care,” Kurt said, pushing Finn down on the sun lounger, the furniture creaking a little under their combined weight. “I’m going to kiss my way down your gorgeous chest, and have my wicked way with you.”

“Dude. Blaine’s sleeping next door to us!”

Kurt looked up at him, one hand already toying with the waistband of Finn’s boxer shorts. “Then we’ll just have to be quiet,” he said, sweetly. “Won’t we?”

Finn gulped, and moved up until he was at the very edge of the sun lounger, his hands seeking purchase on Kurt’s clothed back as the sky crackled fiercely, the rain splashing their bodies with warmth. The early morning storm moved closer, the plink of rain sounding against the steel of the garbage chute over and over, percussive against the surrounding architecture. Kurt let their bodies come together, his lips sliding over Finn’s as they kissed, the breeze from the air moving over and around them.

“You got a mop downstairs?” Finn said with a laugh, his breath chilling the rain against Kurt’s jaw.

Laughing brightly, Kurt tilted his head back. The warm rain continued to fall, lightly soaking his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt. Finn’s groans were soft and wet underneath him; he tasted of rain, and Kurt’s own shower gel, and of the summer storm that washed over them. The moment Finn’s hand played with the fuzz of hair at the back of Kurt’s neck, Kurt didn’t care about being soaked to his skin. He didn’t care they’d ruined $25 worth of gourmet pizza. He didn’t really care for much other than the fact that the man he’d loved for so many years was right there with him.

“God, you’re here. You’re really _here_ ,” Kurt mumbled against Finn’s lips. The rain barely muffled the wet, urgent noises until Kurt pulled away again. “This is romantic, but...“ He watched Finn run his tongue over his full, kiss-wet lips. “We should go inside.”

“Yeah,” Finn said, pulling him in again. His hands found their way into Kurt’s pockets, brushing the outline of his cock as he nipped and sucked just behind Kurt’s ear. “I’m here. I promise. For as long as you’ll have me.”

When he pulled away, Kurt smiled. Everything seemed to slow to a crawl as Finn rested his hand gently on his cheek. He took a moment just to savor the memory. He’d seen Finn covered in mosquito bites; he’d seen Finn yelp when a spider ran across his hand in the dark; he’d seen Finn in a red shower curtain; he’d seen Finn drunk on some of Carole’s cheap box wine and drunkenly model the tiaras Kurt kept in his hope chest. This side of Finn was one Kurt had only dreamed of seeing back in 2009, and he had to pinch the back of his hand to remind himself it was his reality, and not some fever dream fueled by pseudoephedrine and a bologna and Velveeta concoction served up in McKinley High’s school canteen.

"Oh my _god_ ," Finn laughed. “I only just realized I’m not wearing _pants_ ,” he said, and he was actually _blushing_. Kurt watched him scoop up the pizzas and walk over the garbage chute, tossing them down before he wiped his hands off on his shirt. “This is _insane_ ,” Finn muttered, flashing Kurt a grin that would make a freshly-polished diamond look dreary. “So why does it feel so _right_? Let’s dry off, grab an umbrella, and explore my new city before it turns into Satan’s sweaty armpit.”

Kurt pushed Finn lightly against the wall with one hand. “Explore, you said?” his fingers lightly tracing along the waistband of Finn’s wet underwear, snapping it against his skin. “I think I’ll start by exploring this, right here.”

Finn rolled his eyes. “Great. I totally got myself a high-maintenance one.”

“And I suppose you want me to change that?”

Smiling, Finn looked up at the sky, the rain still splashing around them both. He reached for Kurt’s hand and took it in his, leading the pair back towards the stairs. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he said, as he shut the door and walked them down the steps. “You don’t need to change a single thing.”


End file.
